My two French bulldogs, Hank and Dita, were my world.
A majority of my life revolved around them, and they were always factored into my most important decisions.
Over the weekend, my partner and I had a birthday party to attend an hour and a half from our home, and as it was quite a drive we decided to stay the night. I messaged the person who walks my dogs semi-regularly and asked him if he might come on Sunday morning to take them for a walk and feed them their breakfast. He responded and offered that he would be happy to have them at his place for the night. He absolutely adored my dogs. So he came and picked them up, and we went on our way.
We had a nice Sunday morning, knowing that our dogs would have had a good play and had their breakfast and would be dropped back to our place by the time we got home.
We stopped for lunch on the way home, and it was then I got a phone call. I was told, "there's been an incident, the dogs were playing at the park and they became quite unwell so they are now at the vet. The vet said they believe they have heat stroke and they are trying to get their temperature down before transporting them to emergency."
I immediately felt like I was going to vomit. I asked, "are they going to be OK?" but was simply told, "we don't know."
I became incredibly upset at this point, and ran back into the restaurant to get my partner, David. I told him Hank and Dita were at the vet with heat stroke, and immediately, we paid and left.