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Hard Decision

Not that I stare at my dogs tush…..but I can tell that there’s a definite issue. It hasn’t even been 3 weeks since he came home after a 10 day hospital stay where he had the mass/tumor removed. Now, it is returning on his tush.  I take him in this morning expecting the vet to say he’s just a weirdo and this is part of the healing process…but he doesn’t.

Bear has cancer.

Of course we have a few options:

Remove it, knowing it could possibly come immediately right back.

Send him to UGA and spend thousands of dollars for Chemo and radiation.

Put Bear to sleep.

I decide that we should at least let Bear have one more surgery to see if we can get the tumor. Unfortunately, this will be the last attempt to get it; seeing as how the tumor is such an unfortunate place and all. We can’t afford to hit any tubes or pipes if you know what I mean. Bear belongs to Jake, he’s been his “first born” for 7 years now. When I told him, he wondered a loud if we shouldn’t skip another surgery for Bear and just let him go.

UGGGGGG. Hard Decisions.

For right now, we are sticking to our original plan ~ more surgery. I’m not sure if it’s more for us or for Bear. He doesn’t act or look sick whatsoever.  (Well, there is the small issue of a large, oozing tumor on his bum.) Otherwise, he’s diving, smashing and crashing through our house like he always does.

I thought of this poem I found years ago. It so fits.

THE POWER OF THE DOG

There is sorrow enough in the natural way From men and women to fill our day; But when we are certain of sorrow in store, Why do we always arrange for more? Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy Love unflinching that cannot lie– Perfect passion and worship fed By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head. Nevertheless it is hardly fair To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits, And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs To lethal chambers or loaded guns, Then you will find–it’s your own affair But . . . you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will When the whimper of welcome is stilled (how still!) When the spirit that answered your every mood Is gone wherever it goes–for good, You will discover how much you care, And will give your heart to a dog to tear!

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way, When it comes to burying Christian clay. Our loves are not given, but only lent, At compound interest of cent per cent. Though it is not always the case, I believe, That the longer we’ve kept ‘em, the more do we grieve: For, when debts are payable, right or wrong, A short-time loan is as bad as a long So why in Heaven (before we are there!) Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

~ Rudyard Kipling

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