Hypodermic Panic

As she searched, her movements were frantic. It was well past six. Medication time.

Kylo lay on the floor of the kitchen, his paws shaking. He raised white-rimmed eyes at her coming and tried to stand, his long nails refusing to catch on the linoleum. He whimpered and flopped stomach-first to the floor.

“Oh, Kylo. Hold on, momma’s here,” She said running past the old hound nearly losing her own traction. She threw up a hand to brace herself against the fridge.

“Where is it? Where?” She said, ripping open the fridge. Her shaking hands jerked tupperware containers as she looked over to Kylo. He had rolled onto a side and started to breath sharply, his jowls vibrating rhythmically. “Hold on, puppy. Almost got it.”

She too, started to breath sharply– fighting the urge to ball up her hand and bring down the upper shelf of her fridge. She stopped and caught her hands and brought them to her face. “Fffuck.” She screamed.

Kylo’s collar jingled as he tried to jerk up, acutely aware of her anxiety. Instead, his head rolled back and Kylo seized. Paws shot out and stiffened against the floor and the dog’s jowls made a flapping sound as the old hounds head shook.

She saw and threw the fridge door closed. Ceramic plates jumped at the impact and glass started to roll behind her. She heard and snapped up to grab the insulin before it fell from the counter.

“Needles. Needles. Needles.” She chanted to herself as she bobbed looking. At last she’d found the box of clean needles and took a deep breath to steady her jumping hand. Kylo started to breath audibly again.

She drew the insulin into the needle and grabbed a fold of the old hound’s scruff and stabbed. The tension in the seizing dog melted away and after a moment of petting and praying the dog lifted his head and whimpered, letting his head fall into her lap again. She did the same and fell back against the kitchen counter.


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