Scully
Scully, our little snausage dog, has hystiocytic sarcoma. I say "our" dog, but really she's S.'s girl, his favorite girl, his best friend. I'm torn up by what this is doing to Scully, yes, but also by what this is doing to S. It's awful. Simply awful. We found out on December 31. Confirmed on January 1. There are a couple treatment options. I think S. is going to opt for exploratory surgery with two possible outcomes: a) the cancer is only in the spleen, so they can remove it and we'll have more time with her; or b) the cancer is in other organs, in which case S. will likely decide not to wake her up.Scully is to S. what Belly is to me. I love that dog, but I can never love her the way he does. And I try to put myself in his situation, but I just can't. I can't imagine making these kinds of decisions.
This just sucks. No other way to put it.
Labels: S.
posted by aerobil @ 8:07 AM
7 comments
7 Comments:
What a shitty way to have to end one year and start the next. I'm so sorry. Poor puppy. Poor S. Poor you. Such a dear sweet little poochie.
shoe
My heart goes out to both of you.
Oh, no! After four people I know losing dogs last year, this was supposed to be the year of no lost dogs.
Our hearts our with you.
We're sending you and your family (canine and human) lots of good energy from chez blackdogz.
I am hoping for a positive outcome. Please keep us posted.
Paul
I'm so sorry. Love to all of you.
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