The Day I Almost Lost Her : Episode 4

After completing the adoption process,

we headed straight to the animal hospital my brother runs.

A full checkup was necessary,

along with vaccinations.

At the time, Hawon was infected with canine coronavirus

We went back and forth to the hospital, monitoring her condition closely,

focusing on providing enough nutrition.

For such a small body to recover, that had to come first.

The first day was harder than I expected.

To be honest,

the smell was overwhelming.

The hospital said bathing was possible,

so as soon as we got home, I washed her.

Once wasn’t enough.

No matter how many times I bathed her,

the smell didn’t fade easily.

That day,

I sighed more than the water flowed.

That smell probably reflected

how difficult her life had been until then.

So I told myself quietly—

I’ll take all of that away now.

Hawon adjusted faster than I ever imagined.

In less than a week,

she began managing her bowel movements on her own,

and signs of separation anxiety—especially barking—were almost nonexistent.

Even now,

seeing Hawon bark is rare.

Not because it bothers me,

but because she hardly barks at all.

Sometimes it feels as if she understands

that her voice could inconvenience the people she lives with.

Around that time,

I was using a factory-style office space.

There was little foot traffic,

and the space was wide and open.

Whenever I visited,

I closed the entrance, removed her harness,

and let her roam freely.

I truly believed

it was a good environment for her.

I never imagined

that decision would almost cost her her life.

The problem was the size of the space.

In a place spanning hundreds of square meters,

I couldn’t keep my eyes on her at all times.

That was the fatal flaw.

One day,

Hawon came toward me,

drooling heavily—

and then collapsed.

On the way to the hospital,

foam began forming around her mouth.

Her eyes rolled back,

showing only the whites.

Her breathing was rapid and unnatural.

But what frightened me most

was the way she kept trying to fall asleep.

Strangely, only one thought filled my mind.

If she falls asleep now,

she might never wake up.

So I kept talking to her.

I stroked her body,

called her name over and over,

doing everything I could to keep her eyes open.

That’s how we reached the hospital.

The test results were severe.

The cause was unknown,

but the numbers were clear.

Poisoning.

The veterinarian said that based on the results alone,

her life was in immediate danger.

After emergency treatment,

Hawon was admitted for long-term hospitalization

at my brother’s clinic.

Recovery would take time.

About five days later,

she finally began to regain strength.

But another problem surfaced.

At night, she cried relentlessly.

Being confined to a cage,

without her owner nearby,

was something she simply couldn’t endure.

After nearly two weeks in the hospital,

she was discharged.

She survived.

But the damage to her organs remained.

We were warned that from now on,

we would need to be extremely cautious about poisoning.

That this must never happen again.

And yet—

The moment when I failed to keep that warning

came back to me

once more.