And now, I'd like to interrupt this . . . cake
/
Poor Kate. Her birthday falls over spring break every year. We're never at home, and she never gets a "normal" birthday cake.
This year, when we were still on vacation, and after a rather dismal attempt at birthday cake disguised in the form of Costco pound cake, I promised her that I would make her a cake from scratch when we got home.
She requested a white cake with white frosting, so over the weekend I did my research and decided to make Sara Moulton's Classic White Cake.
Today was the day. I mixed; I stirred; I whipped. I baked. Or, at least I started to bake.
Fifteen minutes into the baking process, something went terribly awry.
With the dog.
Thunder the Wonder Dog was lying on her bed, sleeping peacefully, as I cleaned up the kitchen and my beautiful white cakes-from-scratch were baking in the oven when she suddenly jerked her head up, lurched out of her bed, and started running/stumbling across the kitchen floor. At first I thought her back legs had fallen asleep from lying in her bed, but very soon it was obvious that something was terribly wrong.
She made her way to the living room, struggling all the way, finally falling on the floor. She was drooling, struggling for breath. Within a matter of seconds, I knew she was in trouble, but I didn't know what to do. She needed to get to the vet, but she couldn't walk, and I couldn't lift her to get her into the car.
I tried calling B in his office. He always knows what to do.
No answer.
After a few frantic minutes, calling a couple of other people for help, I tried B again, this time on his cell phone.
He answered this time. At this point I was hysterical.
"WHERE ARE YOU?! I mean, you don't have to come home or anything, but SOMETHING IS REALLY WRONG WITH THUNDER. [Deep breath.] She can't walk, and she's shaking. I need to get her to the vet, but she can't walk. I know you can't do anything, but I just needed to talk to someone. SOMETHING'S REALLY WRONG!!!!"
B, in his ever-calm manner, simply said, "Sounds like she needs to get to the vet. Just try to get her to the vet." (I found out later that he was in a meeting. The woman in his office heard every word I
Ah, yeah. Problem is, she can't walk!
Finally, our dear "dog guy," Rob, and my dear friend, Amy, came over in answer to my hysterical calls to them. Rob is the wonderful man who cares for Thunder when we're out of town. He helped me get her into the car (by this time she could walk again), and Amy just generally calmed me down.
Thunder had a seizure. She's fine now; I'm not so fine.
Not only was I pretty much shaken up this morning, I'm also pretty much worried about myself. I actually cried over my dog today. I called my husband (and my friends) in hysterics. I was out-of-control worried about my dog.
How did this happen to me?!? I'm the farm girl who grew up with 14 dogs in 20 years (and, no, not all at the same time). Needless to say, we never got too attached to our dogs. I'm the insensitive person who actually laughed--LAUGHED!--at her friend in college who cried when her family dog died. I thought she was crazy.
But now I've become the crazy woman who cries hysterically over her sick dog and who actually took her daughter's birthday cake out of the oven in the middle of baking it in order to take the dog to the vet.
Half-baked. I think that's what they call people like me.
Hopefully tomorrow's cake . . . and day . . . will turn out better.
