My little soul dog

One of the scariest things that ever happened with my little Luna has to be the day she found some old food. There was a construction site nearby, and the workers had left their trash behind. Little Luna, still a curious puppy, got into it and ate—God knows what.

I'm in my woodshop at this point, working, and I can see Luna sleeping on this shop-made couch I have there. She seems to be okay, but she’s awfully quiet—too quiet for comfort, I’d say. I approach her, and she doesn’t react.

As I always do, I begin giving her kisses, and she still does nothing. At this point, I begin to worry. I lift her in my arms. Her head bent down, as if all her strength had abandoned her. My reaction was instant. With my little dog in my arms, I began running home, screaming for my wife to come out of the house. My shop is about 800 meters or so from where we were living at the time, and the trees were dampening my voice—they sure didn’t help.

My wife came out, still somewhat sleepy, but she became fully awake after seeing our little dog’s lifeless-looking body.
“WHAT HAPPENED?” she screamed in shock.
“I don’t know...” I answered, my voice breaking, trying not to cry.

We had lost Alicia—the mother of our other pups—not long before that day, and I felt like life was testing me again. It was a Sunday. There wasn’t a single place open that I could take Luna to, so I began to panic a bit.

I was on the phone for a good twenty minutes, calling everyone I could think of, trying to get help. An old doctor from a tiny clinic in a nearby town was the only one who agreed to see us. My wife and I got in the car, and I must have driven the darn thing like I was in a video game. Luna, shaken by my driving prowess, puked all over the car.

A combination of rice, spaghetti, and who knows what else was all over my wife and the seats. I cared little about the cleanliness of the car—after all, it was my puppy who needed us, and she was the one who’d desecrated it. My wife asked, all confused,
“Who fed her that?”

We arrived at the doctor’s office five minutes later. Luna’s color had returned. Her gums looked pink again—not that off-white tone that screams something’s wrong. She was scared, of course. The doctor began inspecting her and found nothing alarming. The usual questions were asked, and we answered as best we could.

Of course, I mentioned the puking, and the doctor told us what likely happened: she had overloaded herself. It was a severe case of indigestion—a kind of food poisoning.

He gave her some vitamins, hydrated her, and sent us home.

Later that day, I looked at my wife and said to her in a moment of weakness, I don’t think I’ve ever been so attached to a little animal like I am with her. I don’t know what I would do if she died on us like that. We hugged each other, held our little dog in our arms, and went to bed that night—both scared and grateful it all worked out.

Two years have passed since Luna scared us to death, and they've been two wonderful years. I remind myself often how lucky I am to have her in my life, and to cherish every single moment. Every bark, every cuddle, and every laugh she inspires in us.

MenO