A dog of a different story

I adopted a pit bull almost 4 months ago. It was an impulsive decision, as all of my decisions are. It was the right decision for me. It was fate, at a time when fate was not working out as intended, not that one can intend fate. Charlie was 8 pounds when I found her, she was beautiful, small, vulnerable with a permanently furrowed brow and she was all one color, her coat, her eyes and her nose are a reddish, light brown. She had an intense gaze, I picked her up in my arms, she licked my face and I looked at the shelter owner, Robert, and said "I really don't have the right lifestyle for a puppy." He looked at me flat in the face and said, "come on, do it, dogs are not that much work." He was dead wrong, but he was right too, he knew, like cupid knows when a lover has met his match, that I had met my fate. This dog was meant for me.

...I started this post about an hour ago and since then my dog has ingested a dead rat. This was going to be a loving ode to the being that changed my life, instead I sit here deliberating, do I shell out $500 to get a vet to make my dog throw up, do I give her bydrogen peroxide to make her throw up, do I cross my fingers and assume the paper thin, flattened out, 5 days dead rat probably died by car and not by poison? An hour later it probably makes no sense for me to make her throw up, spend $500 for someone else to make her throw up. All I have left to do is wait it out. And so I will wait it out.

Let me tell you what NEVER to do in this situation, google. Google leads to severe paranoia and will inevitably be the reason for my sleepless night. That and the fact that I own a dog who would likely eat shit and find it a delicacy. I have no idea. Am I bad mother for allowing this to sit for 24 hours? Should I run to the vet with her in my arms? She is a pit afterall and not that small either. I assume she should be fine.

My parents never got worried when I got sick. The reality of being a doctors daughter is that nothing is ever really that bad if its not brain surgery related. And I wonder if I get my lax attitude from them. My mom never carried tissues in her pocket, my father never thought it was worth skipping school due to sickness. I called him on the phone just now and told him that my dog swallowed a rat whole and he said, eh- wait it out, the chances it was poisonous are slim to none. Just like that. And then suggested that I keep rats out of her diet for the next few days.

I love my dog. It scares me that I have this responsibility, but in a way, that was the point. I wanted to give myself something to love more then myself, that I would have to commit to and follow through on, unlike so much else in my life....and here we are today, on my couch, she is snoozing and I am wondering at which part of her digestive tract does this rat lay, and I mean tail and all.

And of course, what does this entire experience highlight. The fact that I am alone. I am all alone. Are you supposed to take care of a dog alone? I always envisioned this kind of project one I would do with a partner and accepting this on my own was this understated, or overstated as the case may be, submission to the thought that perhaps there would be no partner for me in the end. That perhaps, something like this, would be something I would have to do on my own.

Thinking back I should have just stuck my hand in there and pulled that rat out, i just could NOT handle the thought of touching it. I am so worried about this.