"Here, boy!" I call. The dog runs over to me. I pet his head. "
", he replies. "Aww, aren't you just--" "
..." I wonder what's wrong with him, worrying about his health. He has a history of eating things he shouldn't. He never was able to learn what not to eat, and I learned to live with it, regularly bringing him to the vet whenever I suspect he'd eaten something that had no business being in his stomach. We have a strong bond, that dog and I. Whenever he eats something that isn't food, he always comes over to me with a look of regret on his face. I appreciate the respect he has toward me--to be able to not hide what he does from me. I always forgive him; I know he can't help it.
A short while later, we're in the waiting room. He's lying on his side; his breathing is erratic and a little bit labored. His eyes look apologetic. One of the four doors on the other side of the room opens, and a woman wearing what seems to be a white uniform with the casual touch of a blue shirt peeks out from the other side. "Is there a... sk76 here? You're up." I quickly get up. The dog tries to follow me but collapses on the floor before he can even stand all the way up. I figure that I'm going to have to carry him, but I wonder how I can possibly manage to carry a Doberman by myself. He's never eaten anything before that had given him symptoms of this sort, in fact, he'd always seemed perfectly healthy other than a very quiet wheezing. The lady asks, "Would you like me to help you bring him in?" I nod.
We bring him through the door she came from, which says "
EXAMINATION ROOM 2" on it. There's a table on wheels with a white, table-mattress looking area on top. We place him on the table. I instinctively sit down in one of the chairs in the corner of the room, having been here so many times before. "Dr. Morgan will be in shortly", she says. "Okay", I reply. She walks through another door on the other side of the room, which reads "
STAFF ONLY". A sign below it reads "Visitors may only enter if accompanied with personnel who are given direct orders to bring the visitor in from patient's head caretaker." I remembered the first time I came here, I asked why I couldn't go through. Dr. Morgan pointed to the sign, and I got the picture. I always did find it a bit confusing that they referred to the owner as 'visitor' and the pet as 'patient'. As I gazed at the sign, scanning the words but not really reading them, Dr. Morgan came through the door.
He greeted me with a warm "Hello!" I respond with a "Hey." He looks a bit taken aback when his eyes focus on my dog. "Wow... this doesn't seem to be the usual for him." Dr. Morgan had always been the person that gave my dog his check ups and operations. He even helped deliver him, along with his brothers and sisters in his litter.
His mother was rescued from some guy who used her, as well as five or six other dogs, in dog fights. He hadn't payed very good attention to the dogs or their health. He kept them all in one small cage, and I guess when he wasn't looking, well, she got pregnant. When he found out that she wasn't good for fighting any more... I don't remember what they said happened, but it lead to the animal cops finding the dogs in the cage, the guy ended up in jail for I-don't-remember-how-long, and the female gave birth two days later in this very building.
"Do you have any knowledge as to what might be causing this?" he asks. "I think he may have eaten something, but I don't know what or if he did", I answer. "This appears to be very serious. We're going to have to give him an exam to see if we can figure out what's wrong." I lower my head. "Okay." I pet my dog, reassuring him that everything will be fine and that he'll get out of this okay. Dr. Morgan opened the staff-only door, and wheeled the table in, closing the door behind him.
Twenty or so minutes pass. It feels like an hour and a half. Dr. Morgan comes in the room. "We're going to keep him overnight. They're going to have to do some surgery..." He sounds unsure of something. As though he didn't want to have to tell me this. It seems a bit off that he's uncomfortable saying this, as he told me this three other times, and he always said that my dog would no doubt have perfect recovery the next day, and he was always right about it. Then again, those times were never as serious as now. He continues, "...and we're not quite sure, but...he might not make it." There was silence. "I understand".
-I leave, go home, and go to bed. It's like, 10:00 or something.-
I wake up in the morning. I eat a small breakfast and change into new clothes. The vet isn't open yet, in fact it won't be open for another 2 hours. I decide to pass the time by doing things that need to be done. I clean. I do stuff. I check my answering machine to see if I got any new voicemail. There is only one.
-I listen to the voicemail. I go to the vet 'cause it's gonna be open in about 5 minutes.-
The voicemail had said that my dog wasn't going to make it, and that I should get there as quickly as possible before it's too late. I arrive.
-I'm in the room with the table.-
I ask to see my dog. "He...didn't make it. He passed away before we could finish operating on him." "But what caused it?" "Well, we found...this." He pulls a bag out of his pocket. Inside is a translucent, spherical object. I wonder what it is. "What... what is that?" "To tell you the truth, I don't really know, either." Something about that clear ball told me that I needed it. That all that had happened was meant to be. "Um... can I... can I take that... with me?" He is puzzled. "Well, I was just about to throw it out, but if you want it... here, you can have it." He hands it to me.
sk76 obtains: one (1) ORB(S).