Dale, furious and sorry for the dog, scolded our son, pointing his finger at him, “I told you not to tell your mom, you snitch!”
He impatiently pushed me aside, speaking harshly, “Aren’t you overreacting? It's just a bite. Who hasn't been bitten by a dog before? I just can't believe that you, a mother, would be so cruel and heartless to kick a defenseless dog.”
Disregarding his protests, I swiftly gathered all the supplies he had purchased for the dog and hurled them into the hallway. With a firm tone, I cautioned him that unless he get rid of the dog from our home, I might just end up hitting it again. And I meant it.
That day, Dale left angrily holding the dog and didn't come home for three days. I took my son to the hospital and the doctor said it might be too late for the vaccine to be effective. Despite this, I insisted and the doctor reluctantly administered the shot. I wasn’t ready about the swift deterioration.