When I met my husband, he had two beautiful dogs - just puppies then. That was ten years ago. The dogs have been with us throughout and were even in our wedding. They are big dogs with beautiful (although very different) personalities and they were stunning together. On our daily walks, it was not uncommon for cars to pull to the side of the road to inquire about one or the other of the dogs. One was black and one is white and people were typically drawn to one or the other.
These dogs have always been amazing with children. They would patiently endure curious pokes and prods and provide gentle little baby kisses if it seemed welcome. They are part of our family and we looked forward to them sharing life with our children.
One (the black one) was diagnosed with cancer this past December and passed away in April, less than two months ago. While cancer is common in her breed, she had recently been acting so youthful that we felt she would be with us for years to come. It hit us hard and the end came quickly and painfully for all of us.
That left the three of us to welcome our little boy and we looked forward to our little one growing up with our fuzzy one. On Thursday night we learned that this dog has cancer. We could not have been more shocked. Cancer does not run in her family, nor does it run in her breed. Dogs in her family often live to 14 or more years - even to 17. Although we've been told that the cancer is all over her abdomen and internal organs, the only sign that she's showed us that anything is wrong is a diminished appetite, which we had chalked up to depression surrounding the loss of our other dog. We took her in for a check-up simply as a precautionary measure, not expecting to find anything wrong and certainly not expecting news of this magnitude.
We are devastated at the prospect of losing her yet still hopeful that she will somehow pull out of this and be with us to welcome our newest family member home and for many more years after that. We visit with the oncologist tomorrow.