Oops I Did It Again

This isn't the first time I've mentioned my issue/probem/disability/predicament/downfall about my big fat sappy animal heart.  But I really outdid myself at Harlan's doggy daycare recently.  In the most humiliating way.

Asher and I went to pick up the Herb Derb and while we were waiting at the front desk we moseyed over to the pool to see if any puppies were swimming (yes, Harlan's doggy daycare has three indoor heated pools...for the dogs.)  And then we saw him: our favorite puppy.  An enormous, gorgeous, all black german shepherd.  We had seen him a handful of times and I was obsessed.  Today he was in his life vest paddling through the shallow end of the pool.  His (presumed) owner was also watching, and I struck up a conversation:

"My son loves watching puppies in the pool, and we really love your dog."  As if on cue, Asher started yelling "pahpy wahers pahpy wahers pahpy wahers!" (this is Asher speak for "Puppy in Water").

"Thanks.  You know when we first tried to get him in the water, he wouldn't even get near it.  It took weeks before he would go near the edge and not need to be carried in.  Now he jumps in and we can't get him out."

"Is he doing rescue training?  He looks like a shepherd?"

"No, he is actually doing swimming for therapy.  It's amazing how much better his limp is since we started."  Bam. I start feeling my nose tingle, which is the first sign that I might start crying in T-minus 1 minute.

"Therapy?"

"Yeah.  He has a bulging disc that is pushing on his spinal cord.  We are trying hydrotherapy before surgery, hoping it helps."  I know by now that I am going to start crying.  So I choke out, in a shakey cry-y voice...

"Is he in pa-a-a-in?"

"Sometimes, but I love him, I'm doing everything I can to keep him comfortable."  This is when I officially begin weeping.  But he can't tell yet.  "If this doesn't work, and they can't fix it in surgery, we will have to put him to sleep.  I won't let him live in pain forever."  And that's when I started sobbing.  Like, for real sobbing.  Like, everyone looks pretty when they cry, sobbing.  Like, making those awkard gasping hiccuping noises, having to sniffle to keep snot from running down my face, sobbing.

The guy got really uncomfortable and said, "Wow.  No one has reacted like that."  Then Bob, who works at the daycare and always take care of Harlan brings him up, takes one look at me, yells at the woman at the front desk to bring me tissues, and gives me a hug.  By now everyone in the waiting area is just staring at me trying to figure out who died.  But no one died.  A total stranger's dog who I've only seen three times in my life could die someday, and that was enough to make me lose my you-know-what in public.

Conclusion: My illness/disease/achilles heel/biggest weakness persists (and grows).  And I am looking sillier and sillier because of it.