Holiday from Hell

Holiday from Hell
a short story by Diana Weeks

I knew the dog was sick when he first walked in, because he was so thin.

I told them there's something wrong with this dog”.

I was already pissed that my tender hearted daughter, a teacher, had agreed to dog sit for neighbors over the holidays…’cause the guy had just been laid off. Boo hooo.

I lost my whole retirement nest egg when the stock market crashed… I had to move in with my youngest, her husband, two boys, a girl and two big black boxer dogs.

The giddy couple and their only son, the dog owner... Dropped Mr. Andy off… for us to care for… while they drove 1,800 miles to visit his out of state family.

Mr. Andy, a frog footed golden retriever puppy is three feet high and liked my room best. Thus adding more animal responsibility. My oldest grandson is raising two pigs to show at the San Antonio fat stock show. The pigs must be fed morning and evening and the pigs require special diets…separate food mixtures… when is enough?

It's true; I do slip the dogs a taste of people food once in a while... So when Mr. Andy started vomiting, I was blamed. “The other dogs are okay” I defended and fixed Mr. Andy some chicken soup. “Yes, I took out the bones”. And he threw that up all over the house. Poor thing couldn't hold down water.

My daughter called the couple that the dog wasn't well. “He'll be okay “they sang, clearly intoxicated.

Mr. Andy got sicker and sicker and the puke was getting tracked all over the place. Vomiting faster than we could find and mop up. At three am New Years Eve Andy had to be taken to the emergency pet clinic. We didn't want to spend that much money, but could not let the dog die on our watch.

Seven hundred and fifty dollars later…“kidney failure” the vet diagnosed...Prognosis “terribly sad”, a slim chance Mr. Andy could be saved by a costly surgery. “These dogs sometimes have a birth defect blockage that grows as they do”

Can Mr. Andy stay alive until his real family returns January 3rd? “Probably not”. The neighbors had to be called. They agreed to return as soon as they could pack.

The clinic doesn't board so Mr. Andy had to come back home with us. I warmed my cosy microwave heated pillow and put it beside listless Mr. Andy on a pile of blankets and I'll pet Andy's head tell he goes to sleep. I pray he lives til his young master gets here to say goodbye. “And please dear god, find me a job so I can move and live alone again”.

The end
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