The electric kettle is heating up tea water, and Kaylee is lounging on the bed behind me as I type. But an hour ago we were in a small waiting room listening to a Dr. explain what may or may not be the reasons behind her apparent seizure. Stressful. I had gone cold as she shook uncontrollably in my arms, dreading the worst. My golden lab True had died in exactly this way when she was seven years old, and Kaylee had turned seven in October. This could not be happening. But Kaylee is fine and as I step back to hug and pet and kiss her she wags her tail and gives me a quick little lick on my cheek.
I am to treat her for fleas, bomb the house, and vacuum every day. I am also to keep an eye on her and call immediately if there are any further signs of trouble. Tonight I am ever so grateful to have my little dog still with me, and I am sure all the extra little attentions over the next few weeks will let her know that.
Words help destress me I guess, and I had to express my anxiety somewhere, so I am grateful for my hands, my computer, my eyesight and so much more this evening. God I hate manic mooshiness.
It's all good.
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