It’s all kind of a haze. The last thing I remember clearly is mom handing my leash off to the nurse and her and I walking down the hallway into a dimly lit room. Not long after that, it all went blurry. And then darkness. I don’t know how much time went by before I woke up. The world looked smaller, which I later realized was likely related to the fact that I was viewing it through slits. My eyes just didn’t want to stay open. So I gave into the darkness again.
Who knows how long later, mom’s voice jostled me out of whatever deep sleep I was in. She sounded close enough to hear, but I couldn’t see her. It was scary and I’m a manly enough dog to admit that’s when the crying started. Fortunately it wasn’t much longer before I saw her, albeit still through those darn eyelids that didn’t want to stay open. We took a car ride home. And I stumbled through the rest of the day.
In passing, I heard as my forever mom filled my forever dad in on the events of my day, which apparently included something called a dental cleaning. I guess that would explain why my mouth hurts and I didn’t feel like eating or drinking anything all day. Everything went well, and I should be good for at least a few years now.
I couldn’t feel much, but I did feel relief wash over me as I heard this. It explained how I somehow felt like it was the shortest longest day of my life, but also that I (hopefully) wouldn’t need to go through this again any time soon. It’s weird not feeling like yourself. My normally fairly active self felt like it was tied to the ground. My eyes wouldn’t let me see anything, let alone find joy from the ground up. It was an all-around challenge of a day.
Fortunately, most of today is a haze. But there was a silver lining I didn’t need to see to believe. Both mom and dad, and even dear baby Carter, took extra care to show me love and affection. (Which is saying a lot, since there is no lack of love in my forever home). Because sometimes after a day like today all you really need is a hug.