April 9, 2012
I have a deep love for animals.
Some might call it unhealthy.
But I think those people are just jealous.
Sometimes I squeeze my pug Zoey so tight that she gives me this terrified look and then shoves her paw deep into my sternum in a mighty hope that she can escape me.
Yup, so tight, I squeezed a toot out of her.
You feel that, Zoey?
That’s how much I love you.
The other day I took Zoey to the vet. It was a somewhat routine check up where they took my dog behind closed doors, poked and traumatized her, and later charged me 600 US dollars.
Sure, there were other things involved, like a skin infection, ear infection, medications, and a biopsy.
Zoey had cancer before on her tail a year and a half ago, had it removed (the cancer, not the tail), and now lives a normal pug life.
Her having cancer before made me nervous about hearing the results.
Two days later the vet called. She told me things that I didn’t really understand, used words like mass cell tumor, and oncologist. I asked questions, and bit down on my lip when she told me the answers. And finally she made abundantly clear: Cancer.
This time it’s on her torso, it’s a skin tumor, so maybe they can remove it again. But removing it comes with certain complications, like apparently the doctors can be in surgery, cutting the tumor out, and suddenly it goes systemic, and instantly it poisons her blood, and immediately kills her.
Thus killing me.
So maybe we don’t remove it.
And what, slowly watch her suffer and die?
I can’t handle this.
Zoey, don’t you realize you’re supposed to live forever?!