Panic

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One of your kiddy dogs, out of the blue, limps as he completes his morning walk.  You toggle on his leash to get a reaction, but he does not respond.  You give his leash another pull.  There is a whimper or grunt of sort which he releases.  It is clear he is in some pain, but you couldn't tell how severe.  You tell your brain and heart, "Don't panic!"  You lovingly prod him to move; with his best leg, he takes your advice, and with a trying left leg hop, he manages to cover as much a distance.  You cheer him on some more.  Because he trusts you, he takes your lead, though unsure of whether or not he would make the climb uphill.  Little by little, he gets closer to the top.  He makes it.  He even makes it to the door steps before he lets out a much louder and painful grunt.  There is no telling what happened to his leg out there.  You calm your head over and over about the unexplainable situation.  As soon as you yourself get in the house, you look for, and then grab your car keys; next, you carry him in your arms as a mother would do to her child, and settle him down on the car seat.  Finally, as you drive to the Vet down the road, you assure him, "The doctor will get you well!"  To yourself you tell emphatically again, "Shoo, Panic!"