My dog has cancer. Sucky ass cancer. And it's everywhere probably. I know for sure he has a HUGE mass in his tummy and one on his liver and pancreas. Fucking pancreas...hate that stupid organ anyway.
He quit eating about a week ago but was still playful, so I was still hopeful, and in denial. I begrudgingly took him to the vet this morning. And I got the call one hour and five minutes later. He is terminal. They can't even operate. He will starve to death very quickly and has begun to do so already. One month ago, he was playing frisbee in the yard with Abby. So quickly. It's hard to wrap my head around. So, I turn to writing as usual. I have one more night with him.
I have had him for 13 years. He came before I met my ex husband. That's how long I have had him. Since I got Reilley, I have been married, divorced, had two children, gone through a diagnosis, etc. etc. etc. And he has been this little bundle of joy the whole time...there to comfort me and curl up next to me just at the right time. He also knows when I need my space and during those times, he just lays right next to my bed...every night for 13 years.
It's going to be an adjustment for us...me, Lily, Abby and Scooter. The girls and Scooter have known no life without him. I hope Scooter doesn't try to starve himself. Another adjustment. I hope I have the energy for this one. I am worn out and exhausted from too much change. I am OVER IT. I am ready for some down time from the emotional ride 2011 has brought us.
So, he is 91 years old. He has lived a good, long, fun, happy life. We will be okay. We will get through this too. We will keep on going as we always do and we will land on our feet stronger than we were yesterday.
First Day Home 1998
Last Day Home 2011
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