It was a rare, calm Sunday.
Until... my daughter ran out of her room crying, rambling, pleading for us to help her.
The guinea pig was having trouble breathing.
My wife, always more practical than me, started to explain how this might be Corkey's time.
Corkey's time? Huh? This is time to go into Dad action, stat!
Vet... emergency... Minneapolis. Thank God for Google.
And we were off! All the way to St. Paul, by the way, where there is a clinic that can help a guinea pig that's starting to see the light.
Somewhere between Lake Street and the Mississippi River Corkey stopped moving.
"I don't think he's with us anymore Dad," my daughter said softly.
The memory of that moment still gives me a lump in my throat. All Daddy wants is for everyone to be happy all the time... is that too much to ask?
I told my daughter we'd continue on to make sure it was over.
Here comes some important info dads...
At the clinic the diagnosis took less than a minute. Yes indeed, that guinea pig had perished.
The biggest surprise of the day was still ahead though.
After the bad news, the vet tech told me about the walk-in fee of $60 for all animals. Even dead ones.
And the cremation cost of $40 brought Corkey's final scene to just over $100.
Later my daughter thanked me for trying to help Corkey. All of a sudden, the money didn't matter so much.
I joked with her that I want her making decisions when I'm older. Mommy goes to, "maybe it's his time" way too fast for my taste.
Now, depending on where you fall on pets, you're either laughing or crying.
My friend Tracy is a farm kid from South Dakota who was beside herself when she heard how I'd handled this situation. You can listen to our conversation on our podcast. (There's some talk about a dish called the Bacon Explosion on the same podcast. Listen through for the news about Corkey and Tracy's reaction to it).
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