If We Could Talk To The Animals

Having a sick pet reminds me of when my daughter was really little and I had to decide what the right thing to do was without much information to go on.

Baby B: Wah! (Pulls at ear, projectile vomits, ect…)

Me: What’s wrong? Oh good Lord, what’s the matter?

Baby B: Goo goo, wah! (Puke!)

So, do I take her to the ER at 2 am or wait until her symptoms get worse or miraculously better? (Or she learns how to verbalize?)

I took her to the ER so many times her first couple of years, because I didn’t want to be a shitty mother. The nurses got somewhat annoyed with me, to say the least.

Nurse: She’s FINE.

Me: You promise?

Well, she’s 23 years old now, so at least I don’t have that problem anymore.

Sort of.

My dog Maya is my 2nd child. And when she starts acting ill, I go back to the old days, when I had to use my own judgement (oh geez ass) to figure out if it’s an emergency or something that can wait until, oh, I don’t know, a daytime appointment with a regular veterinarian.

We lost our sweet Maggie back in May, so I guess that I’m still traumatized by it. She had a tumor in her belly that had ruptured and because we’re not rich, we had no idea until it was too late to do anything. With Maya, I don’t want to be a shitty dog mom and not take her distress seriously.

Maya: Whine! Cry! (Starts to shake, looks up at me with those big dog eyes.)

Me: What’s wrong? Oh good Lord, what’s the matter?

She started acting strange yesterday. My boyfriend and I kept a close, concerned eye on her. It seemed that she was having pain in her backside, like her hips were bothering her. But it didn’t seem like something that needed addressed asap with an expensive ER visit on a holiday weekend until late, around 11:30 PM.

The time when the bad shit seems to hit the fan.

My daughter works crazy hours, so I didn’t want to disturb her and I let her sleep.

I called the animal hospital and I was all ready to take her in.

As soon as she got outside she started getting really excited and so I decided to take her for a walk instead. She was really pulling me hard and I figured if she could do that, then perhaps this wasn’t a true emergency, after all.

Maya: Cool, a late night walk!

Me: Slow down, you’re killing me here, Maya Pie!

We went back inside and I gave her some OTC doggo pain meds that we’d purchased a while ago, thankfully not expired until 2022. I stayed up and waited for her to fall asleep on the couch and then I finally crashed myself around 3:30 am.

The pain meds seem to be helping her and she’s moving around better without crying but I’m exhausted and don’t want to leave her alone. I was supposed to go to my brother’s house for a social distancing cook-out but there was just no way. My daughter went for the both of us and maybe if I’m lucky, they’ll send me a plate of food.

I’m taking her to a vet this week to get checked out because I don’t want to play Dr. O’Leary here, but B and I think that she might have arthritis or somehow injured herself while chasing the cat around the house.

Resting comfortably, thank goodness for those pain tablets.

I just wish that she could talk! She’s not a puppy anymore and that makes me wish that pets lived longer.


  1. If only they could tell us when something was wrong. We had the same thing happen to Titus as Maggie, although the vet said even if he had the surgery, the prognosis was still terrible—maybe a few more months but that was it. I still cry over him.


  2. I know the feeling. Pippy has apparently chewed on something, maybe it’s stuck in her teeth? She keeps doing this weird partial yawn thing. Anyway, she doesn’t want you to look in her mouth but she doesn’t seem to be in pain. Fortunately we’ve got an appointment tomorrow morning for her regular shots anyway so I’m just going to bring it up then. I hope Maya ends up fine. Her getting so excited about a nighttime walk is something I would take as a good sign, too. ❤


  3. With cats, or at least Ody, it’s usually easy to tell when something really bad is wrong, because they’ll stop purring. I can certainly attest to the shit hits the fan on a holiday thing since Ody’s last respiratory infection happened on New years Eve… and yeah, vets are apparently party people too. I’ll be sending virtual scritches to Maya…


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