Neeners

Nina came down with a fever yesterday because I let her out in the rain too long while taking her out to do her business. I was worried to the point of tears yesterday when she lay there, barely moving a muscle. At times she would let out blood-curdling high-pitched whines, like she was in serious pain. I didn't know what was wrong with her. Contrast this with lively, playful, hyper Nina who rarely stops moving and jumping. I know it was super paranoia taking over, because through the night I kept thinking, what if she doesn't make it? What if she's a dead doggy by twilight? It was such a relief, after 4 hours of sleep, to wake up and see her moving her eyes around even if her body wasn't. At the vet's office the doctor gave her some antibodies and a checkup. I had no idea the physical vulnerability of this poor little pooch. I felt so guilty while at the same time being sad that this ordeal had put a dent in my wallet--meds and office visit cost 73 dollars! A costly oversight indeed...But the good news is Nina will most likely be ok. She looked and seemed better today, so hopefully this recovery continues apace.

Before one begins to jump to conclusions about me being certified neurotic, there probably is a logical, psychologically-rooted explanation for my excessive anxiety. At least this is what I think. I don't usually get so ahead of myself when it comes to other issues. At the root of the problem, it has to do with my numerous short-lived experiences with pets. I must have had 4 or 5 puppies and/or dogs, all who met a tragic end less than a month of us owning them. Lucky was sent away because my mom couldn't stand him nibbling her plants (which she values more dearly than pets). Mimi died of a disease genetically transmitted by her mother. Peanut was sent away for the same reason Lucky was. And then I had an adorable mixed terrier whose name I forget, but she slipped under the gate and was never to be seen again. I guess through all this, my mom is partially to blame. These experiences have traumatized me such that I am horribly afraid any roaming insect eaten or rapid-fire illness will claim Nina's life, or that an unnoticed crack somewhere will be her portal to escape. I'm delirious aren't I?

That's the last time I take Nina out when it's raining. Her well being trumps a perfect potty training regimen.