Small Dog Panic.
Gaia comes running into my office with a panic in her face.
“Dad,” she says in that serious voice she uses when she’s trying not to cry.
“Dad. I was reading. Like I’m supposed to.”
Yes, I say, trying to treat the interruption as a teaching opportunity and not a distraction. Yes. You were supposed to be reading. “What happened, honey?”
“I was reading to Don Doodle.”
A knot tightens in my gut. The three-and-a-half-pound chihuahua is very delicate and prone to injuries. Worse, he’s prone to reacting very dramatically to small injuries. When he goes to the vet for his shots he sometimes goes on a multi-day hunger strike.
“What happened?” I ask, trying to swallow down my emerging sense of panic.
She takes a deep breath and speaks, holding back tears: “I accidentally…” My gut churns. “…sneezed on him and now he’s got snot all over him.”
My gut releases. I smile and laugh.
So that’s why we are going to give Don Doodle a bath today.
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