March 7, 2011
Because All Dogs Go To Heaven
When Dixie's stomach started getting bigger all of a sudden, I told Dad, "YES! She's going to have puppies!!!". This didn't seem far-fetched to me since, in 1996, most 9-year-olds had no idea that she needed to come into contact with a male dog in order for this to occur, or that being "fixed" means this option was eliminated completely. We brought her to the vet and had to leave her there while they ran some tests.
Dixie ended up coming back home for a little while. The vet drained her stomach, wired her shut, and had her sport a vivacious, purple doggy-diaper to catch any liquid that seeped out of her incision (which we later learned was liquid from a strain of Hepatitus, which thankfully, after lots of blood tests and shots, we were told none of us had caught).
You even covered a comfy chair with a pink blanket and finally let her up on the furniture. She was really confused at first because: A. you were never a "dog person", and B. according to you, dogs were supposed to eat, sit, sleep, and live on the floor and nowhere else. You letting her sit somewhere besides her dogbed was huge. She probably thought, "Oh frig, she's patting the chair cushion and motioning for me to hop up. Yep, I'm a goner."
I was absolutely horrified. I froze. I refused to see the floor-- or her-- like that. I couldn't bring myself to go upstairs and say goodbye... so I didn't, and I never saw my best friend again.