That night she won’t eat. Something is really wrong. This is not normal. Things are not OK. Rush trip in to the vet. He looks her over, “Probably just took a stick in the throat or neck. Its probably bruised and sore. Keep an eye on her”.

She eats the next morning, but won’t drink. Seems lethargic. For two days she doesn’t drink, but she’s eating fine again.

I wake three days later, rub the sleep out of my eyes, take a piss, walk back into the kitchen and flick on the lights.

Blood.

Everywhere.

Gobs of it in every room. Flecks and drops and pools, scattered throughout the house

And a dog who looks like a ghost, hollowed out with droopy eyes. We call the vet and rouse him from sleep, he tells us to wait until the clinic opens. We get there and he can’t figure out what is wrong, keeps telling us its cancer. Can’t seem to put two and two together, even when we spell it out for him. We leave the clinic disheartened and confused, not sure what to do.

Our good friend (who happens to be an animal health technologist at a clinic an hour or so north of us) comes to our home, takes one look at the dog who is now coughing and spitting up what little blood she has left, and says:

“Take her to the city, she needs help”

500 kilometres and 6 hours later, through the year’s first blizzard, with a dog dying in the back seat we arrive at the emergency vet clinic. And after 3 sleepless night, 3 different procedures, 2 blood transfusions, and 9000 on the credit card, we learn the cause of all the commotion.

All this because of a 2 inch piece of stick lodged into the tonsilar area in her throat, rupturing the oesophagus and impaling an artery. She will be alright again, but it’ll take time.

No running, no jumping, no playing, no fun. Not until the new year. Which meant no birds for us this year.

But she’s still here, and on the mend. Looking more like herself everyday.