I Was Really Worried About Teddy When He Went to the Hospital 🐾💔
Teddy has always been the strong one.
The protector of socks, the comforter of bad days, the golden-hearted goofball who brings joy to everyone he meets. But a couple of weeks ago, I saw him in a way I never had before—tired, quiet, and not himself.
It started so subtly. He skipped his morning zoomies and just stayed curled up in his bed. I called him to come outside, and he just looked at me with those big, sad eyes. When I offered him a treat, he sniffed it and turned his head away. That’s when I knew something was wrong.
I tried not to panic, but the pit in my stomach grew with every hour he stayed still, every time he didn’t respond the way he normally would. The moment that really shook me was when Roo, his partner in crime, brought him a toy to play with—and he didn’t even lift his head. She nudged him, confused, and laid down next to him.
I called the vet immediately.
They told me to bring him in for a full checkup. I gathered him in my arms, and even though he’s a big boy, he felt smaller somehow. Lighter. We sat quietly in the waiting room, surrounded by the sounds of other pets and concerned owners, but all I could hear was the pounding of my own heart.
After an exam and initial bloodwork, the vet came in and said they wanted to keep Teddy at the animal hospital for observation. My heart dropped. I nodded, tried to stay composed, but when I walked out without him by my side, it hit me—I’d never left a vet’s office without him before.
That night, the house was silent.
Roo didn’t eat. I didn’t either. Teddy’s bed sat untouched. I kept refreshing my phone, waiting for an update. Every minute felt like an hour. I was scared—not just of what might be wrong physically, but that something deeper had shifted in him emotionally. The not knowing was the hardest part.
The next morning, the vet called. Teddy had been stable overnight, and they were doing more tests. Still no answers, but some improvement. A tail wag here, a little more energy there. They said he perked up when they brought him his favorite toy and blanket from home. That made me cry.
Later that day, they let me come visit.
When he saw me, his whole body lifted—slowly, but with love. He pressed his face into my chest and let out the deepest sigh, like he had been holding his breath too. We sat like that for a long time. No words, just warmth. Just the bond that can’t be explained—only felt.
Eventually, the test results showed it was likely a combination of exhaustion, mild dehydration, and stress. Nothing life-threatening, thank goodness, but a wake-up call. We’ve been doing so much lately—filming, traveling, new routines—and maybe I didn’t notice how much it was all affecting Teddy. He’s always given so much to me, and it was time for me to slow down and give that back to him.
Teddy is home now.
He’s resting, healing, and slowly getting back to himself. Roo hasn’t left his side. Neither have I.
And I can honestly say:
I was really worried about Teddy when he went to the hospital.
But now, more than ever, I’m just grateful.
Grateful for every wag, every cuddle, every moment we still have together.
Because that’s the thing about love—it’s not always loud or flashy. Sometimes, it’s quiet, constant, and golden.
Just like Teddy.
