My dog is dying from the inside out. He must be. Sam is 12 years old, and for the past two months he’s had diarrhea. Now he seems unable to control his bowels. Just this weekend he’s had a few inside accidents and the clean up has been no easy task. The most recent clean-up just complete, I’m spent. This is the same two months that I’ve been single parenting because my husband, Chris is in Memphis with the Navy. The same two months leading up to the New England SCBWI conference that I’m helping to coordinate. The same time, of course, that our newish van is overheating stranding me and my kids during a March snowstorm and me forgetting to charge my cell phone. (Okay, we weren’t stranded, but walking miles with a 6 and 8 year old in a snow storm is no fun.)
I wish I was one of those women, those writers who could come up with some witty entry that makes everyone laugh at my anguish. But right now I just need a hug. I’m so exhausted and I’m ready to send Sam to the great dog house in the sky. The only problem is that there has been no diagnosis. No parasite I can get rid of, no food issue I can remedy. (Rice, tried that. Boiled chicken, that too. Changing food, yup.) Can you put your dog to sleep for pooping in the house? Granted, it reeks and is a watery mess (TMI sorry) but doesn’t there need to be something else wrong?
I don’t know. I’m reaching the end of my ethical rope. I’m bringing him to the vet tomorrow– today and boarding him there. I need a break.