I almost lost Cooper on his favorite bushwalk.
His legs gave out first.
One moment, my Border Collie Reese was bounding ahead of me on our bushwalk, and the next he was wobbling like he was drunk.
Then came the sound I'll never forget.
A cry. Not a bark. A desperate, terrified cry that made my stomach drop.
I sprinted to him as he collapsed onto the dirt path, his eyes wide with confusion and fear.
Something was horribly, terribly wrong.
I rushed Reese to the emergency vet. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely fill out the forms.
The vet took one look at Reese's symptoms, the wobbly gait, the difficulty breathing, the way his bark had changed to a raspy whisper, and immediately started examining him.
"Found it," she said grimly, holding up tweezers with a fully engorged paralysis tick the size of a dog treat. "Right behind his ear. It's been feeding for at least 24 hours."
I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.
"But... but he's on tick treatment," I stammered. "He gets it every month. How is this possible?"