Dinner is cooking.

I don't feel ike eating.

I am staring at my phone.


For some unknown reason Hubs felt the need to come home early.

I'm glad he did.  At least it gave our boy a fighting chance.


They were getting ready to take him to surgery when they asked us to leave.  I would have laid on that floor beside him for hours if I thought I could have provided him comfort.

He's the baby.  He's not even 10. Yet our sweet puppy boy is currently fighting for his life.

My heart is torn to shreds.  I am trying desperately to keep myself busy.  I feel strongly that I need to pace. Like that is going to make this better.

I wrote a check for more money than I have right now, pleading with them to save him.  Willing to give them every valuable I own. They will hold my check until payday. They will care for our baby.

We rushed him in.

Doctor Mike promised us that he would do his absolute best. I have faith in him.

But this waiting.

My mind keeps telling my heart to hush.  That this is a good sign.  That they are doing everything they can for that big, soft-hearted, playful boy.  That they are trying to save him.  So don't rush it.

My heart is having a helluva time listening!

I keep straining to hear, one of our phones will ring eventually. I'm anxious and terrified all at the same time.

He was suffering for how long?  No idea. Vomit all through the house.  Water trying to be drank to ease the pain.

They can't call us.  Funny thing is, I think he managed to let Daddy know he needed him. Why else did he come home unexpectedly?

My girls showed up.

I was struggling through cooking, not hungry, but needing to eat.  Staring at the phone every two seconds.

Writing, trying to sort out my heart and head.

That sweet loving girl of mine. She showed up with two Dilly Bars. "I know you are trying to not eat this stuff, but..."

It was the perfect gift.  The calming effect of those two beautiful girls, bringing ice cream and hugs made things so much better.  The waiting not so unbearable.

That painfully slow movement of the clock was eased a bit by the distractions.  Sitting on the deck, enjoying the coolness of the fan blowing on us. Savoring the company, the news being shared.

Slowly the death clamp grip on my heart started to ease.

Jus then, Doc Kyle called.

Neeko is in recovery.  Heavily sedated.  He came through surgery really well.  They were worried about a small bit of his spleen.  But as they watched him, it started to look good again.  The next six hours were going to be critical, but he was "zonkered" and they would be taking turns coming in to check on him over night.

He has to be doing fair, if not, they would have transported him to an all night facility.  They were keeping him at their clinic.  Another good sign.

Almost instantly, as tears ran down both of our faces, we felt the blood start pumping and the exhaustion start to set in.  We were breathing.  I am not done praying.  Although Doc Kyle said that he was doing very well and will probably be able to come home on Saturday.  

Gator is so worried, looking around the house for him.  I offered to go sit by his side, so did Hubs.  Doc Kyle felt he was doing well enough that did not need to happen.

This has been a terrifying night.  My eyes are drifting shut.  Yet I am afraid to sleep and maybe miss a call that we are needed.  I'm not ready to say goodbye to our big fuzzy baby boy.  I need to hear him talking to me.  It's going to be a quiet few days.  He's a big talker.

Sleep well baby boy... we will be there in the morning.  I need to pet your soft head.  I am not sure how I will sleep without your rythmic snoring, but I need to try.

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