Our Last Adventure

Despite my foolish but understandable hope, I got the official word from the vet today: Bonnie has mammary cancer, and the only question is how far it has spread. We're not talking about cure but rather heroic, stop-gap measures that would perhaps buy weeks or months. From there, we're talking about quality of life and what's available to keep her as comfortable as possible until the aggressive cancer makes her suffer too much to stay with us.

I did not know this until today, minutes ago, but I have inadvertently hastened her death by not getting her spayed. I don't know WHY I didn't know this, but I didn't. In fact, I thought it was better for her health to NOT get spayed, even though all the "abandoned animal" activists urge pet owners to spay and neuter their perts. I had no idea I was contributing to her otherwise early death. I could have foregone any number of litters of adorable pups. I am simply shattered--devastated of course that her time has finally come, yet all we pet owners live with the inevitable. But to know I missed a huge health risk like this is terrible knowledge. It's a bitter, bitter pill to realize I've sped up the inevitable.

We've had such wonderful times together, not only she and I, but she and our family. Camp dog, river dog, watchdog at home and on the job, companion at home and fellow traveler on the road... since I first saved her life after chewing a toxic plant when she was not much bigger than my houseshoes until the day we were reunited after my release from the hospital, she has asked no more than to be near. If she had a job she could do, why, that was even better... Majestic in bearing, loving in spirit and protective by nature, she has contributed more to the world than some people do and certainly, immeasurably more to us and to me, specifically.

I'm very thankful for these past few weeks we've had together; I know she wondered where I went when all of you were so worried about me and praying for me and taking care of me and so happy for me to recover. And I'm grateful for hers and Doc's having a safe place to stay while I was gone: had she gotten out and been run over--or worse--while I was out of commission, I just don't know what I would have done. That in no way trivializes poor Scout's death in the same fire that nearly got me. It's simply that, truly, I could never have imagined when we brought her home as a pup how attached and emotionally involved I would become with this lovely golden darling.

She has a bed that I put in the truck then bring inside the motel room when we return. The medicine they gave me last week allows her to get around again. Of course, it's hard to say whether it's painless mobility--or relatively painless, because Goldens are one of the breeds that vets call stoic. Regardless, for the moment she's able once again to do what she most loves: get in the truck and...go...somewhere, anywhere ... facing into the wind, calibrated, alert and happy to see what's coming next.

Tomorrow we visit the vet again, to map out the coordinates for what remains in our great adventure.

She's napping right now, a few feet from me, as always--ready by the door. So, today... here in a few minutes, we'll load up one more time and just go see what we can see. I expect I'll have to pull over quite a bit for safety's sake, as I can't possibly cry all this out in one, extended session. But that's OK. She'll lick my tears, and I'll hug her neck and I'll realize once again how lucky I am for my own life to be sure but also to have known such a sweet and gentle soul...