Like everyone on Facebook, I was dreading the loss of an hour of sleep on a Monday morning. I had my alarm set for 6:10, but the Universe laughed and said you wish, sucka.
Penny was yelping in her crate at 4:30am. Cory jumped out of bed, because I didn’t hear it (best dog-mom ever!) and came back up a few minutes later to tell me there was puke and bile all over her crate.
As the experienced dog owners that we are, we decided to let Penny in bed with us so we could attempt to salvage a few more hours of sleep.
Why did we think she would stop hacking up a lung just because we put her in our bed? Because we’re soft, people! In a matter of moments, she was dry heaving and coughed up a small pile of mucus-y bile in the middle of our comforter.
Good thing we have a king. Why? Because we wanted our fucking sleep. So, we wiped it up and Cory said, just don’t roll in the middle.
Sounds good, man.
When she did it a second time, I thought, maybe we’re foul human beings. But, again, the desire to sleep outweighed the self-judegment.
This is real life folks.
Anyway, she didn’t stop coughing and she was shivering like a madwoman, so my motherly instinct finally kicked in to gear. I had to stop my brain from going to maybe she has a cold, to maybe she only has hours to live.
We got out of bed and into the car in a matter of minutes. When we got to the animal ER, the girl at the front desk asked me a million questions, half of which, Cory informed me once we were in the privacy of the examination room, I got incorrect.
Mother of Year is inevitable, don’t you think?
When the vet came in, she needed me to distract Penny with some treats so she could get Penny’s temperature. She lubed up the thermometer and stuck it in Penny’s hiney. (I laughed because as she did it, she said boop! but I thought she said poop!)
Again, Mother of the Year will be mine when I have humans, I’m sure of it.
To make a short story long, which I have the talent of doing, my little bubby has bronchitis and I’m confused as to why the world hasn’t stopped turning.
Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I just plan on sitting on the couch with my baby all day, catching phlegm and rubbing her back whispering you’re a good girl. You’re okay. Mommy loves you.
If owning a dog serves as any sort of foreshadowing as to what kind of mother I’m going to be, I’m in for a lifetime of Xanax dependence.