Time

A minute always has sixty seconds. That's what you learn in school. So why is it that some minutes seem to last forever, and others fly by far too quickly?

This last week, our family has and is experiencing both. Last Thursday my husband experienced what probably felt like the longest minutes of his life. You see, last Thursday our beloved dog did the unthinkable - he nipped the baby. Not on the hand, but in the face. I was at work, and my husband was home with Mac and Hemi. They had just finished supper and he was washing the dishes when from the back porch where the dog's food and water bowls are kept he heard a noise that made him experience fear like he'd never felt before. By the time he reached the porch (maybe five steps from where he'd been standing) the dog had disappeared and the baby was sitting there with blood dripping from his eye. Terror. It took him almost an hour to Mac down enough to put him in his car seat and head to the hospital. One hour. Sixty minutes. Three thousand six hundred seconds. It felt like years.

It took two hours at the hospital to get treatment. They numbed Mac's face and then sedated him prior to trying to stitch him up. Even with the sedation it took two nurses and a doctor to finish the procedure. A procedure that took maybe fifteen minutes and resulted in two stitches on his eyelid and three on his temple. Thankfully the doctor told us that Hemi's tooth did not go through his eyelid so the eye was not damaged.

Once we were home, we had to deal with the realization that Hemi would have to be put down. Even though we both firmly believe he did not intend to hurt the baby since had he actually BIT him, Mac would be missing an eye right now we still couldn't risk it happening again. We discussed sending him to the humane society but both hubby and I agreed that that would be torture for Hemi. He's never been kenneled and that would feel like abandonment. We also discussed the fact that regardless of who owned him after us, if he ever did happen to bite again we would feel awful. So the only option left was euthanizing him.

Ten days: the amount of time the Health Unit requires an animal to remain under observation in order to rule out rabies. Ten days. Two hundred and forty hours. Fourteen thousand four hundred minutes. Eight hundred and sixty four thousand seconds. The amount of time Hemi has left to live. On Monday November 15th at 4:45 I will be taking my best friend, my fur baby, my loyal companion and our family protector to the vet to end his life.

Ten days. How can ten days sometimes feel so long, yet right now, go by so fast?
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