Cyrus

So, I’ve done something I’ve never done before. During my few minutes of grocery shopping this morning, I threw into my basket two dog toy balls. I’ve passed the animal section of Bobs’ probably a thousand times without ever feeling an urge to buy anything. But this particular morning, I stopped in front of the displayed array of animal accessories and bones, scanned the selections, and picked out two colorful dog balls.

This morning happened to be the morning after a worrisome night of stress dreams and abrupt awakenings. The morning after Cyrus was sick with weird bowel movements and a bloated stomach, not to mention the lack of spark is his eye.

After giving me a pack of Rolaids to relieve the bloating, a friend Alicia told me about this thing that dogs can get called Bloat. Their stomach bloats up, twists, causing them to die in a matter of hours. While I realize she was trying to give me the worst case scenario just to be safe, I couldn’t help imagining how I would be held responsible for Cyrus’s death.

I was really worried and tried my hardest to express my concern to Cyrus by laying next to him and allowing my body to be a place for him to lean against, as if him seeing how worried I was would make him better.

Cyrus lived, of course, and upon my morning observation, his stomach seemed to have returned to its normal state as did his bowel movements. And the spark was there.

I’ve never cared for a dog like I’ve come to care for Cyrus. As much as I’ve always been a fan of dogs, I’ve never had one and so have never quite made that connection to one. I’ve dog-sat multiple times and have become very well acquainted with a few dogs, but a dog has never crossed that line to actually having an impact on me. Cyrus has been on that line for a while now, and I think last night, crossed it.

I know I have a long way to go until I have a true, lasting bond with a dog, but for me, buying dog balls to throw for Cyrus is a big step.