It may have given my dog a limited number of days, but I plan to disrupt this cancer parade Animal House-style with an “Eat Me” float.The three months I was counting on having with him were almost cut down to three days last week, when Petey stopped eating, and the oncologist didn’t like what she saw on his ultrasound. She was leaning toward putting him down right away, but left it up to me. I figured I had to do everything possible for him, so I told her to go ahead and give him a chemo treatment.
Two hours later, the farewell tour was back on. Pete went Seal Team Six – on his feet, and eating everything the nurses could feed him. The oncologist told me she let him roam around the hospital floor after his treatment, and at one point he stopped to exchange a kiss with a kitten. He’s the Pit Bull poster child all the way to the end.
So now, Petey gets whatever he wants to eat, and a shopping basket full of doggy junk food is just what the doctor ordered. (Literally.) I’ve had a few meaningful warnings from friends about not being a selfish owner who keeps his dog alive a little too long, but it won’t be a problem. While last week’s diagnosis was a real punch in the stomach, spending a week with him not really being himself anymore is preparing me for the end.
Until then, Petey is not quite ready to cash in. The appetite is still going strong – an entire herd of pigs have died so that he can live. The good times still roll.
