My little hero was just one of the most brilliant lil pugsters I’ve met to this day. I knew her from the time she was three weeks old, and she already could tell when I was in a funk. She’d just lick and wiggle and do doughnies until I was back on track. By the time the adoption went through, it was my birthday, and she taught me that she knew I was to answer the phone. She would find it and bark at it until I answered it.
Her only fault was eating weird things. My recliner, spare change, hair combs, tubes of toothpaste, horse poo (that one isn’t so odd; many dogs love “road apples”). My biggest fear was her eating metal and hard plastic. I had to have people me move, I’m just not physically well enough, and a change jar got dumped and left on the floor. I had told my helpers please, please, please be careful, but I had gone into town.
Her eyes told me something was wrong first. And a need to cuddle a bunch. We were moving, I figured she was just out of sorts. She ate breakfast just fine but by Sunday evening was throwing up. No fever, soft belly, normal poop but by my appointment Monday afternoon, I had a bad feeling and didn’t want to let her go. Maybe if I had stayed, she would have heard me and stayed. I don’t know. Thank you, CPR, very much for the way too short time I had with that girl who just always knew what to at the right time.