The dog coughs at midday

It was the fourth phone call in a long Friday afternoon of phone calls, e-mails and quick just-for-a-minute cubicle chats. I was tired and tired of problem solving. "Good afternoon...," I began my spiel.
"Mom, something is wrong with Root Beer," my oldest son spewed in one hard-to-understand sentence.
"Slow down and tell me what's happening," I replied.
"She's choking."
Like every typical mother, I have nightmares of being at work when a family emergency occurs. I have tossed and turned through many nights dreaming of children consuming bleach, leaving doors unlocked and forgetting to turn off the stove, yet I have never entertained the thought of a doggie emergency.
My CPR training kicked in and I started to ask if Root Beer could talk --- no, that's not right. Could she speak?
"What's she doing," I asked.
"She's chewing her bone," my son replied.
Like a born-again Kinsey Millhone I investigated.
"What was she doing before?"
"Playing."
"Does she seem like she's in distress?"
"Well, she coughs every five minutes."
The case was too much for me. I sent him to the expert.
"Call the vet and then call me back."
Within five minutes a more subdued child called me back.
"Is she okay?" I said.
"Well, she is still coughing," he said.
"But....," I waited.
"The vet's office said to watch for blue or greying lips but she's probably okay."
"Good," I said.
When I arrived home, I heard the cough.
It comes from deep in her chest. I tried to recall where I had heard it before.
That's right. My brother has a bark just as bad as Root Beer's. He has bronchitis.
Mystery solved.