Dear Readers,

You might have noticed that I have been silent lately. That is because we have received some pawful news about my health and I’ve been busy comforting Momma.

Here’s my story: Momma and I both suspected something was wrong with me as I lately had labored breathing and snorted and snuffled when I ate my food. And I snored and sputtered at night. Momma thought it was because I was getting older. But it wasn’t that.

On the morning of September 8, I woke up at 4:30 sneezing and wheezing and coughing and found myself surrounded by blood. The blood was coming from my right nostril. Momma, startled, jumped up to help. I think at that moment she and I both knew we were in trouble.

Momma rushed me to South Metro Animal Emergency Care in Apple Valley. After an explanation of what had happened and an exam, the vet said that my right air passageway was pretty much blocked. Which I already knew, but it was difficult to put that into woofs. Anyway, the vet surmised that the cause could be either a tumor (yes he said that first), an infection or an abscess tooth. Momma got very quiet and began to cry. In fact, when we left the clinic, she cried all the way to the car, and I knew things were bad. When she buckled me it, I gave her a face lick that said, “we’ll be okay, Momma.”

On September 18, we followed up with Blue Pearl Specialty Clinic in Arden Hills, which of course we could have driven to blindfolded. My appointment was for a teeth cleaning, and while I was “out,” the vets did a CT scan on my head to find out what was wrong. Later that day Momma came back to pick me up, and Dr. Edstrom gave her the bad news. I have a large mass in my right nasal cavity.

When they carried me back into the room (which Momma had noticed was ominously labeled “oncology,”) I knew things were not good. Momma, usually tough as nails, was weeping quietly and looked at me with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t cheer her up much as I was still so wobbly and foggy from the anesthesia. As we were preparing to leave, Jennifer Ficken, the vet tech Momma and I love (see photo left), showed up, and she carried me to the car with Momma trailing along, almost inconsolable. Jennifer gave us much needed support and even put a pee pad in my doggie seat should I have an accident. The car was very quiet on our way home, Momma trying to fathom our “new normal,” and me sleeping.

Next up was an appointment with the oncologist vet, Dr. Duffy, who confirmed that I had cancer and suggested we try chemotherapy in a pill form. She said it was a light dosage and side effects should be minimal, if at all. Momma was to administer it daily.

Momma does not make a good nurse. However, as usual, she did her best. First, she researched the actual process online and almost had one of her famous meltdowns, so afraid was she of poisoning me or herself or others. Soon the pouch containing the bottle arrived in the mail. It was wrapped in what looked like yellow caution tape. I think it even had a skull and crossbones on it, but I may have imagined that. The pill was not to touch her skin or the counter or anything else on earth (except me). She was almost scared to open the package. Anyway, she regrouped and went to the drugstore and bought a million plastic gloves, paper towels and hand wipes. I am just surprised she didn’t order a hazmat suit.

When the day came to administer the drug, I could sense that she was so nervous she could hardly breath (kinda like me) so I was very encouraging and acted like I really wanted the pill (and I did since it was wrapped in ham). I also swallowed it willingly and almost woofed “yum” to make her feel better. After spending about fifteen minutes double and triple washing her hands and the kitchen, we went on with our day. Momma kept a sharp eye on me. Would I throw up? Have diarrhea? Light up like a Christmas tree? Might she have to call an ambulance? Thankfully, none of the above took place.

And that’s where we stand, dear readers. I am on day nine of chemo and so far so good. We play ball — sometimes even before breakfast, walk, paddle board and play Frisbee. Momma is terrified of brushing my teeth, lest she wander into tumor territory, but tries occasionally and we get by.

I can tell that Momma is trying to make every day as normal and fun and relaxing as possible. I can also sense a little false cheerfulness from her, but I just go along with it and pretend all is well. I am still her support dog, after all.

Finally, Momma wouldn’t let me close without including some photos taken since my diagnosis, so here goes. You will see me in my sunflower scarf after a grooming, with Winnie having a playdate, at Blue Pearl (looking at Momma with great suspicion), at the cabin, with Momma feeding me and CoCoa, and with Nanny.

Momma also asked if you wouldn’t mind saying a little prayer for me. Would you please say one for her, too?

Lina, Thankful for the ordinary day

WOOFDA.