You either love dogs or you don’t.And for 11 years, I’ve had a mad love affair with my dog, Petey. On Saturday, X-rays revealed Petey’s chest is ravaged with cancer. As the vet delivered the news, I cried, for the first time in 20 years. I cried hard, and the vet kept trying to reassure me that I took such good care of Petey for all these years that it extended his lifespan. A big, 11 year old Pit Bull is like a 100 year old man.
Still, it was too much, too fast to process that my time with him is just about up. I took him over to an oncologist, who was smart and compassionate and thinks that with chemo and medication, Petey can live pretty well for three months. I felt better that I’ll get that time to say goodbye.
This whole event has reminded me of the incredible support system I have, like my mom, who’s always the first person I call with any news, good or bad. Or my friend Jenn, who kept checking in on me. My friend Daniel told me that after Petey is gone, I need to get a new dog, because a good owner like me should always be taking care of one. Or my friend Carolyn Sykes, a super-talented actress who proved once again my theory that actors are truly supportive. Carolyn came with me to the oncologist, and sat with me there for three hours, and asked the doctor all the tough questions for me while my head was spinning. Who does that?
A few days before Petey was diagnosed, he came over to me and started kissing my face more than usual, and wouldn’t stop, as if he knew something was up. It was the beginning of this sad and strange situation, living with a 100 year old friend as if he’s from the future, and for the next few months will be letting me know what to expect.
By the way, the last time I’d cried – 20 years ago – was when my family’s dog died. You either love dogs or you don’t.
