canaries in the coal mine
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So much of this going around these days that you got to wonder when will we accept the fact we must be living wrong. Our small companions ought to clue us in; but we don't listen.
Now it's Bearswatter's super sweet fluffy little bichon Sophie appears to be expiring from the big C. All Winter she's been craving belly rubs. All Winter she's been periodically hacking. All Winter she had trouble jumping up onto the hassock or the couch. Here in the last month her teats started swelling. She gained two pounds this Winter. After her last trim she looked mis-shapen; bigger on one side than the other. Still cheerful and antic. Then last week she lost her ****. Walked round the house looking fey. (English is a great language. Fey is a great word: conscious of your own impending death.) Sophie started to cling the last few days. Literally would climb up on our necks and hug. Look in her eyes, she knew her time was nigh. Looked at us tragic. Took her to the vet who expressed blood from her teats, felt her round the body, immediately scheduled surgery. Bearswatter took her in yesterday morning. Four or five hours surgery. I have been so busy with work, twelve hours a day, couldn't go with. Bearswatter sat there in the waiting room from eleven to six. Quarter of seven last night, Bearswatter calls me at the office sobbing, says she can't talk, I have to come home now.
Vet found three large masses. Three pounds out of the two she gained were tumors. One in front pressing on her lungs making her hack. One in her abdomen swelling her teats. One in the middle all involved with her guts. End to end. Took out one; carved half the second; decided if she went any farther she wouldn't have enough flesh left to put her back together; buttoned up. We brought her home today. She's not too happy. Trimmed aft; but still mis-shapen in front. Masses went to the lab. Does not look good.
Sweet pup. These bichons are like eighty pounds of love shoe-horned into an eleven pound package.
The neighbor's dog got cancer. The next neighbor's dog got cancer. My bosses one dog died of cancer. His other has prolly a month left. Spensive radiation and chemo just stretched out the misery. You look around, it's like the canary in the coal mine. All the littlest critters are checking out. Dull-Aware leads the nation in *** cancer. When I was a kid, cars killed dogs. Cars were the big C. Now the big C is Cancer.
Now it's Bearswatter's super sweet fluffy little bichon Sophie appears to be expiring from the big C. All Winter she's been craving belly rubs. All Winter she's been periodically hacking. All Winter she had trouble jumping up onto the hassock or the couch. Here in the last month her teats started swelling. She gained two pounds this Winter. After her last trim she looked mis-shapen; bigger on one side than the other. Still cheerful and antic. Then last week she lost her ****. Walked round the house looking fey. (English is a great language. Fey is a great word: conscious of your own impending death.) Sophie started to cling the last few days. Literally would climb up on our necks and hug. Look in her eyes, she knew her time was nigh. Looked at us tragic. Took her to the vet who expressed blood from her teats, felt her round the body, immediately scheduled surgery. Bearswatter took her in yesterday morning. Four or five hours surgery. I have been so busy with work, twelve hours a day, couldn't go with. Bearswatter sat there in the waiting room from eleven to six. Quarter of seven last night, Bearswatter calls me at the office sobbing, says she can't talk, I have to come home now.
Vet found three large masses. Three pounds out of the two she gained were tumors. One in front pressing on her lungs making her hack. One in her abdomen swelling her teats. One in the middle all involved with her guts. End to end. Took out one; carved half the second; decided if she went any farther she wouldn't have enough flesh left to put her back together; buttoned up. We brought her home today. She's not too happy. Trimmed aft; but still mis-shapen in front. Masses went to the lab. Does not look good.
Sweet pup. These bichons are like eighty pounds of love shoe-horned into an eleven pound package.
The neighbor's dog got cancer. The next neighbor's dog got cancer. My bosses one dog died of cancer. His other has prolly a month left. Spensive radiation and chemo just stretched out the misery. You look around, it's like the canary in the coal mine. All the littlest critters are checking out. Dull-Aware leads the nation in *** cancer. When I was a kid, cars killed dogs. Cars were the big C. Now the big C is Cancer.
“It has been a source of great pain to me to have met with so many among [my] opponents who had not the liberality to distinguish between political and social opposition; who transferred at once to the person, the hatred they bore to his political opinions.” —Thomas Jefferson (1808)
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A little aside, and I hope you don't mind me putting it here. We have signed up for alerts from the FDA Veterinarian page for recalls and warnings. And we have stopped buying any food or treats that come from China.
Keeping you, the wife & your "buddy" in my thoughts and prayers.