Honey has inoperable malignant cancer.
So, the trip that was planned as part of her swan song is now shelved. I hate crying, but I freely admit I had a two minute sob outside the vet’s office last week, then another 15 second womanful sniffle when we decided a few days ago to switch our plans up–more in-state roadtrips, more day sails, more getting the sailing dinghy up and running as a proper sailing dinghy. All plans intended to maximize our time with a visibly slowing good old dog we love. The cancer is visible as the deck-of-cards-sized growth on her right cheek. It being on her face, on her jaw, we can’t predict when she will start having trouble eating, but maybe sooner than we think. And certainly by the end of summer.
On the bright side, she can have all the busy bones she wants, because weight? Who cares about weight? Also, now she gets the good drugs. What arthritis?
Watching her chow down on a busy bone the size of her haunch is a peculiarly painful sensation: a visual overlay of the puppy we adopted from the side of the road 4000 miles from home, the sweet girl she is now, and the painful fate in store it is our job to avert by making the hard choice at the right time.