Miracle Dog did us the kindness of NOT dying while we were on vacation. He has now lived beyond expectations by almost two months and may actually make his 13th birthday on July 5. I wonder if y'all suspect that I'm making this whole cancer thing up. Well, here's the evidence:
Like you even need me to label the lump, right?
I hate the lump. This thing sucks. And it's sucking the life out of Hoover. We don't see this happy face much anymore, mainly just when we're eating or when he wants to go outside. He no longer gets up to greet us when we come home and just barks in place when the doorbell rings. He can barely put weight on his left leg and limps badly any time he walks. He's still interested in begging for food, but he has stopped eating his Iams and lost a lot of weight at the kennel.
I guess it's a good thing we had fattened him up on steak and bacon and ice cream.
Neither George nor I can decide which is less bad: having a dog die suddenly (as Shemya, our Samoyed, did) or having a long good-bye. I do know I'm grateful for every happy minute with Hoover. I am also deeply sad every time I look at him because that damn lump can't be ignored.
I try to look on the sunny side of life, but right now, well, the lump is eclipsing the sun.