But, we soon learned the Beagle didn't feel good and our plans were foiled.
As I explained to the lil' dude the doggie was sick, she appeared to understand.
She spent 30 minutes observing his behavior in the yard ... eating grass, getting sick.
Eating grass.
Getting sick.
She found his green chewie bone, and offered it to him several times.
Don't like it, she said, pointing to him, to the bone.
She even offered him her snack, a miniature Oreo. The Beagle couldn't muster the energy to even sniff the cookie.
That's when I knew he was sick.
...
Later that evening, in house, feet away from the lil' dude, the Beagle threw up on the carpet.
The dog bowed his head, ashamed.
The little girl burst into tears, frightened.
And I comforted them both.
...
After dinner, the Dad made a rare exception and made a spot by him on the couch for the Beagle to burrow into.
The lil' dude was fascinated by the rule breaking. She ran into her room, as if inspired.
She returned, a girl with a plan.
{And a heart of gold}
And covered her beloved puppy dog with a blanket, one of her own soft, sweet blankets.
And the puppy was grateful; and comforted.
And the little girl was gracious; and satisfied.
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