Her Name Is Sally

I'm watching my dog.  The way she breathes.  The little paw twitches as she runs in her sleep.  Chasing rabbits no doubt.  I'm looking for anything different.  Anything that will support what the vet told me six days ago.  That she has days or weeks to live.  I just can't get my head around that.  She seems so...well...normal.

But she's been diagnosed with hemangiosarcoma, a rapidly growing, highly invasive type of cancer in dogs.  It has already metastasized.  An ultrasound revealed tumours on her spleen, liver, and the lymph nodes around her kidneys.  There is no treatment.  Most cases of visceral hemangiosarcoma are only diagnosed after the dog collapses or bleeds out internally.  In our case she lost her appetite.  But it was June and we were having a major heat wave.  Who wants to eat much when it's 35 degrees C day after day?  She was never a food whore anyway so the on and off eating thing wasn't a major concern.  There were still days when she would wolf it down.  And then on the day she was scheduled for her annual physical I found a large lump on her back, so big it filled the palm of my cupped hand.  The vet found another small lump in her neck.  Blood tests followed.  The lumps were aspirated.  Urine analyzed.  She's anemic but still producing red blood cells. There must be an internal bleed.  And that spells tumour.  The ultrasound confirmed our worst fears.

Her name is Sally.  I adopted her from the SPCA 9 years ago when she was about 6 months old.  We named her Sally after the Sally in The Nightmare Before Christmas.  Two little ragamuffin girls.  She is a sweet, gentle soul. There is no one who has met Sally that does not love her.  Including cats. When we walk down the farm road there are cats who will run from me but press their noses up to hers.  Until she turns and runs that is.  Bunnies do not enjoy the same reaction. Those, she chases.

And so here I sit watching my ticking time bomb of a dog.  As the days close in on a week, time grows ever shorter.  The tumour could burst at any time.  I am afraid to leave her alone in case I pick the wrong moment to run out to the grocery store.  When I have an obligation I can't put off, the anxiety of thinking of her at home gives me the shakes.  Thankfully Sally's "other mother" lives next door.  You know you are blessed when you have people willing to do anything for your dog.  Anytime.

We are spending our final days together sitting quietly.  She sleeps, I read. No house cleaning, no yard work.  There will be time enough for that.  We go for walks, just a little slower than we did before.  The end must be getting closer because I can feel all the bones in her back and shoulders and rump. Even though she has embraced her inner carnivore and happily eats the meat we now cook for her, she is wasting away.  She must be getting tired of being touched and kissed and cuddled.  I wake up throughout the night to put my hand on the sleeping form beside me, ensuring she is still warm, still breathing.

Sometimes she catches me staring at her and she lifts those brown button eyes to meet mine without lifting her head.  Sometimes she's asking me, "Why do I feel this way?"  But most times she's saying, "It's okay, Mom.  I'm doing fine."  When her times comes, I've asked the universe to take her quickly.  Without pain.

I have enough pain for the both of us.