(warning: this has an animal sad.)

I’ve been pretty sick for the last few days, just a random virus I picked up from one of the boys. But here lately every time one of them gets sick and passes it on to me, it hits me about ten times worse. (Cautionary tale: I don’t smoke now, but I used to, a lot. Don’t start smoking. Is bad for your lungs.)

Tuesday morning I took some super powerful, time released, knock you on your ass medicine. I might have forgotten to eat something first, which is apparently really important. I took the dose around 6 am, and I felt fine until about 9 am. Then the room started to tilt, things got really wobbly, and I had to lie down. Until about 5 pm.

Yesterday morning I figured that I should be much better because I had slept so much the day before. Well,  I got up, piddled about, and eventually showered and got dressed. My youngest son was feeling better (he had been out sick), so he was back at school, and it was just me and the older two (still homeschooled but hopefully back in public school next year) boys.

We headed to town to get groceries since the pantry had gotten pretty bare. It was about 55-60 degrees Fahrenheit, and I was sweating even though I was in a t-shirt. This should have been my first clue that I was not back at full health. But whatever. We got some food and drove back home.

Almost back at the house, on the crest of a hill, right in the middle of the road was a puppy. The thing looked to be about starved, it was nothing but skin and bones and sad floppy ears.

I pulled off the side of the road and tried to call it over; it moved its head and forelegs, but that was about it. After a moment I could see blood on it’s back legs. Damn, it’d been hit. Okay, so me and the boys go back home and unload the groceries as quick as we can. Put away the cold stuff, grab a box and a blanket and head back out the door.

We get back down the road to where the puppy is still just sitting there, now struggling to move but unable to. At this point, I’m thinking, “Okay, it is malnourished and has a broken leg. Maybe the vet can help.”

I wrap the blanket around the puppy and lift her up. And she screams and bawls and yelps and cries, and Jesus this thing is in pain, but she never snarls or snaps or growls or tries to bite me, so that’s good. But as I’m picking her up I can hear bones clicking, and that’s not good.

Fast forward a bit, and I’m waiting in an exam room with this puppy, I’ve got my boys sitting out in the main waiting room, and after having lifted this animal I pretty much already know what the outcome of this is going to be.

The vet comes in and pulls the puppy out of the box. And she cries some more. He is as gentle with her as he can be, but still, he has to examine her. Malnourished, yes that is clear. Dehydrated, probable worms. Aside from its injuries, the thing is sick. (Side note, I absolutely hate people who just throw out animals.)

The left femur is broken. The right side of the pelvis is definitely broken. Possible damage to the left side.

As soon as he says the pelvis is broken, I start tearing up, and eventually crying, not full sobs but still ugly crying in the vet office. I don’t have thousands of dollars to throw at surgery for a stray dog I just found in the road. Assuming the puppy could even recover from surgery.

So I’m standing there in the vet’s office, crying my splotchy faced ugly cry because I have to tell him to put the animal to sleep, and I feel bad about it, but we can’t just leave her like she is because she’s hurt and suffering. Also I just feel bad in general and I am really starting to sweat now.

I finish up there, then we head home. James Bay’s Let It Go is on the radio even though our local stations never play that song, and I cry even harder. We get home, I fix lunch, I cry about this random stray dog a little more, and the youngest gets home from school.

I’m exhausted, so I try to nap for a little bit. While I’m in bed, I start to shiver. Grab a blanket. Shiver more. Grab a sweater. Shiver more.

By the time my husband comes home from work a few hours later, I am wrapped up in a hoodie, a bedspread, a fleece blanket, and a snuggie. And I am still cold. He touches my face and apparently I’m actually burning up hot.

He brings me a few ibuprofen and a hot cup of tea, then proceeds to fix dinner for the boys while I come down from my fever. That last little bit was okay, but the rest of yesterday was just so much shit.

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