That said, I’ve blogged about it before, but it bears repeating: I will never presume for a second that raising a dog is anything close to as daunting as raising a child, but the closest I’ve ever felt to real parenthood occurred again as I picked Ricky up from his surgery.
The vet staff invited into the off-limits-to-humans back area, where I encountered a scared, confused and suffering Ricky. I put my arms underneath him and carried all 96 lbs. of him out to my car. The last time we did this, he shit in the back seat. This time, I made sure he poohed outside first. Fool me once.
The good news: the surgery was a success. Thanks to everyone who checked in about him. It takes a village to raise a dog, preferably one with many fire hydrants.
