Man’s Best Friend

They say dogs are man’s best friend. And I have to say, I completely agree. Especially when you get a puppy as an 8 year old little girl and he loves you through your awkward middle school stages, puts up with your hormonal high school years, is always ecstatically excited to see you when you come home during college, and joins you as you leave home and begin your married life.

So imagine how horrible I felt last week when I thought that he might be at the end of his life, and that it was my fault…

It all started because I kicked him. Which wouldn’t normally be a big deal, I actually kick him quite often. Now, before any of you go calling PETA, allow me to explain. Frisky is basically blind and deaf. (I mean, he IS pretty darn old.) His nose still works pretty great though. And he follows me everywhere. He is my little shadow. But because he can’t really see or hear me, he has to get close and use his nose to follow me around. Really close. Like, at my feet and around my legs close. Unfortunately, I don’t always see him when I’m walking… and sometimes I accidentally kick him as I make my way around the house. Of course it’s never very hard as it is never intentional, and he usually just hops back up and keeps following me.

But last week, he didn’t get back up. And I panicked.

I was standing at the fridge, rummaging around, when I turned to head to the table and suddenly there was Frisky, on the ground. I had knocked him down. But I gave him an apologetic pat on the head, he wagged his tail, smiling up at me like he always does, and I kept going. Until a few minutes later when I realized he wasn’t following me around anymore. So I went looking for him, and found him in the kitchen where I had left him. He couldn’t get up. His back leg gave out when he tried to lift himself off the floor. And when I tried to help him up he would limp a few steps and fall back down. It was AWFUL. It took everything in me not to just sit on the ground next to him bawling. Because when you have a dog that’s like 130 in dog years and he is unable to get up and move around on his own anymore… I started bawling. I prayed that maybe a good night’s sleep would help him. But the next morning when he hadn’t improved, I called the vet.

I took him in for his appointment, trying not to be terrified on the outside but on the inside I was shaking. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye…

The vet asked me some questions as he examined Frisky, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying again when I told him how it happened, that I was the one who had hurt Frisky. (To which smiled kindly at me and told me it wasn’t my fault. Bless his heart.) But after thoroughly testing his joints, nerves, reflexes, and muscles, the vet told me Frisky was going to be just fine. I blinked a few times in disbelief. In fact, the vet went on to say that he’s extremely healthy for his age. Impressive even. His muscles were simply a little sore and inflamed. So the vet wrote a prescription for anti-inflammatory pills and said that Frisky should be back on his feet in no time. Thankfully, he is.

Moral of the story, my dog is a little TANK!

Kidding. Haha. But seriously, even though I know he can’t live forever, I’m so grateful he’s sticking around a little while longer. And that it looks like Natalie will still get to meet my little best friend :)

Here’s to all the amazing four-legged best friends out there! Happy Monday :)