“Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet.” – Colette.

If my worry about my dog is any indication, I believe the Gods were wise in not blessing me with children. Last Monday, Stella was out for her morning pee and returned with a gash under her eye. I didn’t initially notice as we went about our usual morning routine: me reading and her lying in front of me, awaiting the morning walk.

I was finishing up when I noticed some goop in one of her eyes. Having removed it, I thought I would check her other one. I initially thought I was imagining something, but then I realized it was a substantial cut I was looking at. An increased heartbeat and sweat followed a small gasp. Not the dog, me! I quickly regained my composure and checked the time, 20 minutes until the vet office was to open. I’d best clean up and prepare for the emergency drive. Fifty-eight seconds to 8, and I was ready to press dial. The countdown had started. The clock hit the top of the hour, and I pressed enter only to be met by voicemail. No doubt, the office was checking for weekend messages. Dial again, dial again, dial again. I was out of control.

Conveniently, I was scheduled to pick up some drugs from the vet, so I thought, why not drive there now? I entered the office, asked for the prescription, and said nonchalantly, “Stella has a gash under her eye that should be looked at.” The receptionist did not panic, no doubt coached in furry friend parent anxiety management, so I felt a wave of calm over me. She would get in at 11:30.

During the doctor’s appointment, I was given the option of stitches or letting the cut heal naturally. I went for the natural route with both solutions dictating the need for the cone of shame. Man, I’m not a fan of that thing! Is it the cone that is the issue or me? I was probably projecting my feelings onto her, making me believe she was so despondent that the cone would need to be removed. Removal happened, not once but twice, with each stint ending with a re-injury of the site. I’m not always the quickest study, but I am happy to announce that I have learned my lesson and have not removed that cone in five days!

 I jokingly refer to friends and family with kids as chumps when I see them entirely sacrifice themselves when faced with their offspring’s requests, regardless of age. Even though my furry friend is not genetically related, the universe has taught me a valuable lesson. Deeply loving another being can carry great joy, great anguish, and great sacrifice—all of which mean you dared to love.