Well, if we were speaking literally here, the price of love would be a.lot.of.money....
But, of course, we aren't speaking literally. We're speaking loosely. Since getting home from my sister's house Sunday night, he's been lethargic, sad, had no appetite, and was just overall a different dog. This morning he had a runny nose and was on his second day of diarrhea. Diarrhea and a snotty nose is a bad sign when found in dogs. I panicked, called in late to work, and took him to the vet. I was terrified he maybe had parvo or the coronavirus, both dangerous things for a young pup.
All he had was an upper respiratory infection. I went ahead and placed him on antibiotics because I knew he'd be stressed these next two weeks with moving. He should be perfectly okay within a couple days. But for a while all these panicked thoughts were running through my head about how my dog could be deathly ill and maybe die. It was later that I realized that I was one of those obsessive mothers I despise who panic when their child sneezes and poops too much. Granted, those symptoms are a sign of something dangerous in a pup but he probably didn't need to see the vet for them.
But a good mom grinds her teeth, pulls out her debit card, and forks over the money to ensure her baby is healthy and happy. My baby is just different than most. He gets his big kid teeth at 6 months, feeds himself, sexually matures around 2 years of age, and rides shotgun. He's allowed to slobber all over me because it's his way of showing love. He drops everything he's doing, from chewing on his toy to eating his meal, just to follow me around the house because he loves me so much.
I can at least return the favor for that endless admiration by overreacting when he sneezes.
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