Our Henry is sick.
He’s got bladder stones and he has to go in for surgery this week, which is very hard on all of us, but is particularly hard to explain to the kid. She’s never gone through something like this before. She knew something was wrong when I came home from the vet crying. I have since sat down with her and explained that on Friday he will go to the vet and be away all day, and when he comes back he’ll be sore and we have to be very gentle with him.
Now I can see in her eyes when she looks at him. She’s scared. She doesn’t understand. She tells me that she’s sad that Henry is sick, and I tell her I am too, but we’re doing our job and taking care of him.
The fact is that I was 23 when my first dog died, and I was totally shocked by how painful it was, and now I’ve introduced this little girl that I love more than life itself to a puppy who is going to die by the time she’s a teenager. He will have been part of her whole life.
She has fallen in love with him.
As I did when we first met.
We knew these bladder stones were likely. He’s a miniature schnauzer and we’ve been warned. We’ve really been very lucky with his health, except for the whole embolism and paralysis thing. He’s been such a good dog and a big part of our lives. There was nothing better than settling down for an afternoon nap with my puppy when I started my mat leave, before she was born.
This is a simple surgery, he’ll be home the same day, we’re taking care of him, but it’s a reminder that he’s 8 years old and he’s probably lived more than half his life already.