by Davina
One day, my dog killed a rat. The rat must have been diseased or something.
I will tell you the time when
my dog saw the bone at the end of the tunnel, but didn't take it.One morning, my mom found a dead rat underneath the car. It was a usual thing for my dog to do this sort of thing, but what could I do? It wasn't as easy as telling her to stop it. My mom loved it - no chance of anything raiding her pantry.
A few days later, my dog started looking rather poorly. She didn't want to eat her usual dry food. My family shrugged it off. But I knew something was wrong.
The following days, she started vomiting. Then her fur started falling off in clumps. Then her stomach and eyes turned a horrible mustard yellow. Then she stopped walking around altogether. She just curled up in a corner and stayed there. She literally turned into a bag of bones. She didn't want to eat the most tasty morsel of meat. Whenever she did, she would just purge it all out - along with the medication hidden inside it. She didn't want to drink anything either. The vet took a blood sample from my dog and could only determine her fate in two days' time. All we could do now was wait.
It was the longest two days in
my entire life. To see my dog deteriorate by the hour made my heart bleed.
It was quite apparent that I was the family member who was the most affected
by my dog's condition - I was the one most attached to her. I went to
college looking just as bad as her, giving a blank, glassy-eyed stare to
anyone who talked to me. The night before the vet's verdict, I went to my dog and talked to her for the longest time. I broke down in front of her, and told her that I wasn't God, so I couldn't make any decisions for her. But if she had to go, then she had my blessings. She was an old dog, and she had been living a good life. It was all good. All that time, my dog just looked at me, as if she understood.
The next day, when I got returned home from college, my mother approached me and said that the vet said that she was going to live. My heart leaped right out of my mouth! I ran to my dog and hugged her (but not too hard - she was still sick). I cried and told my dog over and over again, "Crystal! You're gonna be okay! You're gonna be okay!"
I wasn't happy. 'Happy' is an understatement.
My dog now is at home guarding the house, jumping up and down and baring her teeth whenever the mailman comes around. I know she won't be around forever. But at least I'll now be more prepared than ever when I find out that she's gone. The tears will come running down again, but I will be happy in the knowledge that God gave her a second chance.