Not Her Fault

The scuffling next to my bed easily awakens me in the middle of the night, and I turn over, grab my phone, swipe around on the screen until I find the right button, and turn on the flashlight that doubles as a flash on the camera.

I shine it down into the little nest we've constructed for the dog to keep her from falling down and hurting herself, and she looks up at me woefully, her milky eyes still pinwheeling slightly in her head. Her head bobs down and to the right, a symptom of what they call "Old Dog Vestibular Disease," which basically just means her inner ear that helps her balance got all wonky and now she has trouble walking, or standing, or sitting.

She's peed on the pad we put down for her, and I sigh, grab another pad, and start to clean up one more time.