Our fourth grader started throwing up at 4:30 this morning, and spent the next three hours lying on the bathroom floor. Sleep. Puke. Sleep. Puke. Sleep. Puke.
After one such bout, our dog Star, with her aching hips, forced her creaky self off the hall rug and scratched to be let outside.
“My tummy hurts so bad,” moaned the little guy, as I lay a blanket over him.
Star re-appeared at the door moments later with a dirty bone dug out of hiding. Passed right by me when I let her in. Dropped the bone outside the bathroom a foot from my son’s feverish forehead. “Here, try this,” she seemed to say, “It always makes me feel better.”
Then returned to her nap nearby… just in case he needed her.