The Puppy's case

I couldn't stop seeing the image:

Charlie, lying in the bottom of her cage, bleeding out from her incision, her floppy ears sagging, yelping at the top of her lungs for help.

I rush to her, mopping up the blood with a towel, crying as I watch the life slip out of puppy's body.

I'm losing her. I CAN'T BE LOSIN HER!

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When I woke up, I ran as fast as I could to the front room, only to find Charlie on her pallet in the corner of the dining room. She was gnawing at a bone, with her squeak toy a few inches away.

I took her out for her morning walk, and got called into work on some breaking news.

It was hard for me to leave the baby home alone. Yesterday, she'd gotten her puppyrectomy (a spay for you lay people) and was a little under the weather. I had been watching her incision to make sure she wasn't playing with or scratching it.

On my lunch break, I came home to get Charlie up for her midday jog. I came in, put my keys on the table and went to the bathroom. I unlatched the cage as I walked past to the fridge, grabbing a bottled water.

Charlie didn't move.

When I got to the door, I smacked my leg, beckoning for Charlie to join me outside. She got up and ambled toward me, collapsing halfway there. The cage floor was full of blood...