Chance was fine and frolicking until last Friday morning, when we found him gasping for air and immobile.
The emergency vet found a great deal of fluid/blood in his lungs and torso, and thought a tumor had burst.
An operation was offered, but the vet opined that he was old (11 years) and in bad shape, and would likely die during surgery, or a few days later...and said she wouldn't consider the ordeal of surgery for her own dog if presented with the same issues.
My wife wanted to do any and everything...I didn't want his life to end with fear and pain.
I find myself missing the little things about Chance- the questioning quizzical look he'd give, his head tilted to the side, when something new caught his attention.
His ability to meet intellectual challenges when sufficiently motivated- how to open the refrigerator and freezer doors, the high kitchen cabinets, the baby gate.
His delicate sensibilities around food.
He always gently nudged treats from your hand.
He always liked potato chips-but only plain- never barbecued.
His simple joy in living- rollicking around the front yard as late as last week, shivering in rapturous anticipation at the sound of a "Greenie" being unwrapped.
His tolerance with children.
When poked in the eye by a disabled child, he got up moved a few feet, and plopped back down. When approached by the child again, he got up, walked over, and stuck his head in his humans lap for protection.
Celebrity status... He never became vain, even with people remarking on walks- That's best looking dog- and stopping and pointing at him when in the car.
His quiet shoulder and head nudges...just to let you know he was around.
His innocence, his love, and his deep trusting brown eyes.
Life seems a little monotonous and grey recently.
I lie and tell people I have allergies.
