Two days after our house fire, my family moved into my in-laws’ cabin, located twenty miles outside of town. While my husband, seventeen-year-old son, our two dogs and I settled into our new, temporary home, the restoration crew worked in a frenzy back at ground zero. Removing all our belongings, ripping out every ceiling from each room (plus, some of the floors), tearing our kitchen down to the studs, as well as dealing with anything else that was destroyed.
Our lives had been turned upside down. Traumatic would be an understatement.
Soon after, we noticed our yellow lab, Gypsy, was acting strange, but we just thought she and Nick the pug were adjusting to all the changes.
We hadn’t been there 48 hours when we realized …