Older Than Dirt

Normon RelaxingGrunts and wheezes from the kitchen prompted me to roll my eyes and I kicked myself for letting Snickers lick out the bowl from my dinner prep. Too late, I forgot that I had red pepper flakes in the recipe. No doubt their heat had snaked up her nose or down her throat and I listened for the inevitable slopping of water from her dish in the other room in an attempt to quench the heat. Rhythmic lapping never came. Instead, her sounds turned to gagging. I ran into the kitchen, convinced the spice had caused her to vomit.

I discovered my beloved companion having a stroke, unable to move other than twitching limbs. I gently removed her from the pool of stomach contents and stroked her until the worst of it subsided. A quick toweling off and a few minutes later she rose on teetering legs and wobbled across the room, leaning into walls to stay upright. The dog door appeared to be her quest. Confused if she sought fresh air or a way out of the nightmare she’d had, I picked her up and carried her outside. She snuggled in my arms and let loose a tremendous sigh that spoke volumes. Being older than dirt sucks.

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