As I sat in an exam room at my dog’s vet, staring at little India’s X-ray, I kept thinking about the expression, “It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

The youngish DVM pointed to the blossoming but unrecognizable shadow on the digital image. Based on the absence of edges and the unstructured shape, she guessed that India had eaten something that wasn’t sharp. Most likely a piece of fabric.

The vet and her assistant took my eighteen pound fur baby to the inner recesses of the clinic to make her vomit. The “guts “ of the clinic was off-limits to dog moms like me.

India had been suffering from some sort of intestinal distress for almost two months. She had made the dreaded car ride to the nearby vet’s office, trembling in the passenger seat, twice already over this period.

I was keen on figuring out the problem by going from most likely causes and least expensive procedures to investigate to throwing my credit card at the situation.

We tested for, and ruled out, parasites. I added probiotics and prebiotics to her meals and explored fresh food services. Just when she seemed to be getting better, my canine companion decorated our home with watery poop and mucous coated vomit. Wait. I saw this movie before.

Being more expensive than double my monthly condo HOA, I tried these remedies before resigning myself to a round of bloodwork and x-rays.

I was worried about her health but was tired of getting on my knees and cleaning my area rugs, dousing her favorite spots with Nature’s Miracle.

Dr. Long re-entered the room holding a small stainless steel bowl. She was followed by her tech who had India in tow by her leash. My pup retained her natural curiosity but was slow-moving and groggy,

I came to understand India’s fatigue better after the doc explained what had to be brought up.

The bowl contained a dirty, old, whitish gym sock which India must have found, having been tossed short of my hamper, on my closet floor.

Okay, I considered she has chewed socks before. She has chewed crotches out of my panties, prompting me to start a new holiday tradition in my family. I would wrap a four-pack of my favorite brand of hi-cuts in festive paper and ribbon and sign a card, “From India. To replace the ones I nibbled this year.”

But I couldn’t believe she ate a sock – WHOLE.

My dog is my closest family, the only living being I see every day. We accept each other unconditionally.

I could swear she started depositing her yellow, loose poops on the faux marble floor in the  master bath because she sensed it was easier for me to clean than the carpet by the bay window in the living room. I never admonished her for making “messes.” I didn’t want to come down on her for what she couldn’t help.

Apparently, she generated mucus internally so that food could slide around the object that shouldn’t be in her digestive tract. Hence, everything that came out was wet

I vowed to be more diligent in the future about getting dirty socks into the hamper and closing the lid, but I thought about extending myself and those I love, everybody really, the grace of being who they are, where they are.

I thought about the gift of empathy, whether exchanged between a parent and a child, partners in a loving relationship, close friends, between people and their pets, or between perfect strangers.

There is nothing like feeling seen. Not that everything can be fixed or made right by another’s awareness, but knowing that your challenges can be witnessed, that your pain or anxiety can be acknowledged, can fundamentally change your experience.

I have a great appreciation for empathy, whether given to me or extended. It’s a kind of privilege to have India follow me around our home at three in the morning, watching me fiddle with the thermostat on nights when I can’t sleep or believing she knows how hard I try to tend to her when she can’t tell me what she wants.

Being with a loved one who is sick is a great reminder. All we can give someone is our presence. The impulse to be fully present can make a big difference.

When someone or an event helps you see what’s on the inside — it’s no small thing.

Re-printed with permission.

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