My New Hero

When I gave birth in a military hospital, I had a private room all to myself (well, if by "private" you mean "sixteen different nurses, doctors, midwives, medical assistants, orderlies, and various emergency pediatric personnel." Sterilized equipment was used, along with monitors for both my contractions and baby's heart rate. Someone even came in with a what looked like a really REALLY long plastic crochet hook and burst my water for me. I'd taken classes on childbirth and how to take care of a real live baby. I had blankets and pillows, a bed that converted into a birthing chair, an bassinet with a warming pad inside it, oh and drugs (not an epidural, because I'm not a wimp, but a form of Demerol, because I'm not insane, either).

This evening my dog gave birth under my house. In the dirt. In the dark. By herself. With no prior experience, no instruction in what to do or how to do it, and no one to help her. (I didn't know what was going on until I heard the tiny cries. They sounded like cats.) The only way I can see them is to stick my camera under the house and aim it into their little hollow.

My dog is officially my new hero. Mother and babies (number unknown) appear to be doing fine, although I hope to take them to the vet this weekend if possible.

Congratulations to Xanga the Wonderdog!