Owowow.
Rosie is dying. I can see it. Her black marbles for eyes look a little worse every time I look. Just letting you know that in a few hours, or posibly a day or two, I am going to be a complete wreck. Even if it's not the worst thing in the world. I'm too tender-hearted. Why am I such a crybaby? If only she weren't so little. She's 12 lbs. - low chances against a Copperhead. Please, oh please pull through.
How am I supposed to focus on my paper when I'm thinking about this?
EDIT: No. She's my puppy, and I am not going to be melodramatic. She's still conscious and alert, even if she's sick, and she'll pull through. She has to. She will. Hope is better than despair. She'll pull through, because we had her treated so fast. So what if antivenin is too expensive, the good dose of antibiotics and cortizone is going to help. Yes.
UPDATE: I think she's going to make it. She's acting like herself again and she even tried to dig for grubs in the yard. (Meaghan had to stop her.) So, yes. She's no longer spasming and stuff - and her breathing isn't so irregular. My Daddy, incidentally, was more upset than I realized, sweet man. He said to Mom, "But I love those little dogs" and was considering somehow getting the antivenin anyway (don't know how, but...). But luckily, she's made it so far without it. What a touch cookie. She was even up and hiding her Greenie and growling at Oscar, as usual, when he got too close to her hiding spot. Her face is swollen something awful, but at least she's alert and acting like herself. ♥ ♥ ♥