There’s something wrong with my dog

He just rolls around on the floor in agony, his ribs expand, and his skin starts to bubble. The scratching makes him worse; blood takes over his fur, and he’ll only stop when exhaustion takes control of him. He’s totally gone, reduced to nothing more than a staggering mess of fur and ribs. And yet, despite all he’s been through, his dog eyes still shine bright and clear, begging me to help him. The vet had nothing to offer except for a prescription of Benadryl and a blatant lie about the side effects. “Your dog might have some weird reactions,” she admitted, “but we have to get his allergies under control.” Our vet was overbooked that day, and the wait at the other clinics was even longer. I didn’t want to see him suffer, and so I took the medication from her. I didn’t think about it at the time, but why would a vet give a dog medication that causes “weird reactions?” She knew something, and I have a feeling that she might be the one responsible for what’s happening to him. It all started with the Benadryl. The vet’s office was busy that day, and he didn’t get his medication until the evening. By the time I gave it to him, he had lost his energy and was sleeping on his dog bed in the living room. I gave him the pill with some cheese, and he wolfed it down without hesitation. The first “reaction” happened about an hour later. His front legs twitched and shuddered, as if he had fallen into some kind of horrible dream. I petted him, trying to comfort him, but he didn’t wake up. It didn’t last long, and he went back to his normal sleeping position. The second episode happened shortly after the first. He groaned loudly and arched his spine. His hind legs kicked out to the side, as if he were running in his sleep. I’d never seen him like this before, even when he was younger and more energetic. I stayed with him, talking to him, and petting him, trying to get him to wake up, but he just groaned louder. These nightmares went on for hours, and I grew more and more worried with each episode. I had never seen a dog react to medicine like this. His eyes flew open, and I thought that it had all finally passed. But the look in his eyes wasn’t like anything I had ever seen before. His eyes were black, and they seemed to be gleaming, almost shining, in the dark. He didn’t seem to recognize me, and he ran over to his doggy door, his tail wagging furiously. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen. He squeezed through the door and ran out into the night. I didn’t follow him. I stayed on the couch and listened to him outside, running back and forth, occasionally barking loudly. I was too worried to go out and see what he was doing. The change in his eyes terrified me. And then the howling started. I don’t know how to describe it. Deep, primal screams, like those of a wolf. I shivered at the sound, and I didn’t know what to do. I knew he was suffering, but I couldn’t do anything for him. I had no idea what the Benadryl had done to him, and it was too late to take him back to the vet. I stayed on the couch and listened, helpless, as my dog screamed his lungs out. Finally, the medicine must have worn off. The howling stopped, and he curled up on the other side of the doggy door. I didn’t sleep that night. I lay in bed, listening to my dog twitch and groan on the other side of the wall. I couldn’t believe that this was happening. Where had I gone wrong? What had I done to him? I had no answers, but I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned, and every once in a while, I got up to look at him. I couldn’t face what I had done, but at the same time, I couldn’t look away. I slept in the next morning, exhausted from my sleepless night. Even when I finally got up, I couldn’t face myself in the mirror. I spent most of the day in my pajamas, feeling sorry for myself. I didn’t even want to go outside and look at him. I spent the day wandering the house, feeling empty. I passed his dog bed, now empty, and I felt a pang in my chest. I couldn’t believe that I had been so callous. I should have been more careful. I should have listened to my gut. I should have taken him to a different vet. But I didn’t. And now…now my dog was dead, or at least he might as well have been. I stayed in my pajamas for almost the entire day. It wasn’t until after noon that I was finally able to pull myself together. I went outside, and he was waiting for me. He had stopped twitching, and he greeted me with his dog eyes, begging me to help him. The sight was too much for me. I crumpled, and I cried, unable to help myself. I didn’t know what to do, and it had been days since I’d eaten. My stomach was empty, my body weak, and my mind numb. There was no way for me to help my dog. He was too far gone. The Benadryl had taken its toll. I had gambled, hoping it would help him, and I had lost. My dog was gone, and it was all my fault. And yet, despite all that he had been through, his dog eyes still shined bright and clear, begging me to help him. I’d never seen him like this before. He had always been an independent dog, and even when he wanted attention, he didn’t show it. But now he was different. His eyes showed a desperation I’d never seen in them before. He was begging, and he wouldn’t stop. He followed me around the house, his tail wagging, and his eyes fixed on me. I could see the pain in them, and I didn’t know how to help him. His fur was matted and nasty, and he didn’t seem to care. He scratched occasionally, but the skin was so sensitive that he could only scratch for a few seconds before he had to stop. I knew I had to do something, but I didn’t know what. I couldn’t take him back to the same vet. I had to find a way to help him myself. I started researching, looking for anything I could use to help him. I consulted books and online forums, and I couldn’t find anything. It was as if no one else had ever dealt with what I was dealing with. I couldn’t sleep that night. I lay in bed, and I couldn’t close my eyes. I had to watch him, make sure he was okay. I had almost fallen asleep when I heard him whining again. He had stopped scratching, and he was just lying on the floor, whining softly. I got up and looked at him, and I was horrified by what I saw. His ribs had expanded, and his skin had started to bubble. The scratching had made him worse; blood covered his fur, and he wouldn’t stop. He just lay there, his eyes fixed on me, begging for help. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t let him suffer like this. I knew I had to do something, but I didn’t know what. I couldn’t take him to the vet now. She had made him this way. I looked at him, and I knew what I had to do. I couldn’t let him go through this. I had to make it easier for him. I knew it wouldn’t fix anything, but it would help. I could make him more comfortable. I went through my medicine cabinet, looking for anything that would make him feel better. He was a dog, so I had to be careful. I couldn’t just give him anything. I knew he was in pain, and I wanted to help him. I took two Tylenol PM out of the cabinet and crushed them in a bowl. I mixed them with some peanut butter and gave it to him. He gobbled it right up, and I knew it would start to work soon. I sat next to him and petted him, talking softly to comfort him. I couldn’t let him suffer like this. I knew what I had to do. I waited until the Tylenol had worked its way through his system. I could tell when it was working. He became groggy and lay down, his eyes fixed on me. He looked peaceful, almost happy. I stroked his fur, and he didn’t even flinch. I knew it was time. I got up and went to the closet, looking for my .22 rifle. I kept it there, locked in a case, for an emergency. I didn’t use it often, but I knew it was useful. I knew I couldn’t let him go through this. I loaded a round into the chamber and went back to him. I sat next to him and petted him, talking softly to comfort him. I knew this was what I had to do. I couldn’t let him suffer like this. I took a deep breath and aimed the gun. My dog didn’t flinch; he just lay there, his eyes on me. I knew he was begging me to stop this, but I couldn’t let him suffer. I aimed the gun, trying to aim for the right spot. I didn’t want to cause him unnecessary pain. I took another deep breath and pulled the trigger. He didn’t even flinch. He lay there,

There’s something wrong with my dog

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