Off to the vet

Well, my dog – the one who was lost and then found, the one who was dead and then was alive – is still with us. She still has a very large tumor on her foreleg, and it is still infected.

It will be infected forever.

It will be infected until she dies.

This is not to say that she is dying, necessarily. She could well die of something else entirely. She’ll just have to be on antibiotics the entire time. And normally, my bright line with animals, and whether their life should or should not be artificially extended is what I like to call the “fun standard”.

Is this animal having any fun?

Is this animal living with dignity?

Is this animal afforded moments of pleasure, moments of ease, moments of joy?

If the answer is yes, then we will continue with the antibiotics. Currently, the answer is yes. Harper, despite the -let’s face it – distressingly ugly lump on her leg,  still chases squirrels and rabbits (she catches them too), still wags her tail when she sees us, still steals peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when she sees an opportunity, still splashes in the creek when I let her.

She’s still having fun.

Still, the vet is going to see her today, and I a bracing myself for bad news. The lump is considerably larger than it was before, and it feels hot. This can’t be good. She still likes walks. She still runs. It doesn’t seem to be slowing her down. Still, I worry.

Oh Harper! Oh my sweet little beastie! How deeply you are loved!

3 thoughts on “Off to the vet

  1. Good to hear your pup is doing well. I like your “fun” standard.

    The wife and I at one time owned four aging cats between the two of us. Vet bills, as their population slowly dwindled, (each with its own flavor of heartbreak) were consistently around 4%-5% of our annual income (or slightly more than we pay in state income taxes). Each and every death brought us up against our own standard of pet happiness, and I think we managed them all pretty well. As well as such a thing can be managed.

    This makes me wonder if each and every passing could be looked at as a work of art. They are all the same, and yet all very different.

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