Wyatt under the weather

Having a sick dog is similar to having a sick child. (In this case, Wyatt, whose throat glands are swollen.) The dog sleeps now, but you don’t, not really. You lay there waiting for the next hacking cough, to judge whether it’s getting worse or if his breathing is overly labored. You lie there debating-- back and forth in your mind---if you should get in the car and go to the all-night pet hospital, even though you know it will take hours and hours and cost a small fortune.  (We went there this afternoon and the line was literally out the door.) You are a single parent so you tell yourself, firmly, “Get some sleep. Decide in the morning.” Then you just give up, and turn on the light to read your book, and glance over, one more time, at your ailing beast of wonder.