I’ve had my dog for almost eleven years, since I was still in law school. He’s almost thirteen now. He lived in Manhattan with me and shared my suffering when I was studying for the Bar and working as a first year associate. He was a key factor in my decision to move to Europe for four years (because it was a dog-friendly office), and a key factor in my decision to apply for a job in California (same reason). He has tried to teach me so much about love, loyalty, forgiveness, trust, and patience. I haven’t learned very well, but he never gives up on me.

Yesterday (was it really only yesterday?), I thought he was just an old dog with some back pain that was making him eat and move around less (that was the diagnosis after a couple visits in February and March).

We went to the vet twice yesterday (one scheduled, when the vet said his back was looking normal, but found a growth on his liver; and a later visit to the ER, after he collapsed at home), then had a follow-up visit this morning (where they confirmed that there was a large growth on his spleen that had spread to his liver and said it appeared to be inoperable). We went to an oncologist for a second opinion, and it turns out that he has an extremely aggressive hemangiosarcoma that took over his spleen and spread to his liver very quickly. There is nothing to be done, apparently, other than cry more than I’ve cried in the last five years put together (maybe more than in the last ten years put together), keep him quiet at home in my own little one-dog hospice, give him palliative care, feed him tiny, home-cooked meals every day (the tumors have squashed his stomach and intestines, so he has little interest in food, and can only eat a few bites without vomiting), and agonize over trying to figure out when he crosses the line from “still getting by” to “time to say goodbye.” It’s probably going to be a matter of hours or days, or if I’m lucky, a week or two, three if miracles exist.

I love him more than all but a scant handful of other living beings in this world. I don’t know what I’m going to do without him. I keep thinking of all the things he will never do again — he’ll never do his happy dance for treats, he’ll never go to another meeting at work, he’ll never eat another rawhide, he’ll never chase his butt with hilarious ferocity, he’ll never run across the house and start trying to dig a hole in his bed, he’ll never see some of his most special friends, he’ll never get so happy to see my boyfriend that he starts crying with excitement, he’ll never paw at my leg to get some lap time. Then are the things I’ll never get to do again — I’ll never walk through the halls at work and hear his trademark jingle as he trots along beside me, I’ll never rub his belly again (it’s too tender), I’ll never hug him or hold him up to do little dances (he’s too sensitive), I’ll never get videos of all his funny things that I never got around to taking because I always thought there would be a next time. We’ll never chase each other around the house. We’ll never wrestle (him with his whole body, me with just my hand). We’ll never go for a walk. We’ll never celebrate our next anniversary together. I know you don’t grow old with a dog, I just hoped to grow a little bit older together. I’m not ready for this. I need more time. I need to rewind and relive some of the days before his decline, and really pay attention.

Sorry for the downer. My world is collapsing, and I just needed to write it down.