|I know it doesn't LOOK comfortable...|
|Just a touch of color|
|Black interior? Really?|
Currently, I have outlasted not one but two board certified canine oncologists here. No. They haven't expired. We moved away from one and one moved away from us. When last I wrote, we were making the weekly then biweekly trek to Winter Haven, Florida, to see Dr. Miller. It was usually a three-hour round trip and in the new car, it wasn’t bad. (We finally replaced Nigel, the incorrigible Range Rover we abandoned in Cheyenne, WY, last September.) Often it was a much longer drive than that due to the fact that no one apparently knows how to drive in Florida. I've often posited that this is largely due to the number of out-of-state drivers on the roads in Florida which is more like every driver. This unpredictably long round trip was quite the departure from our 10-minute roll down the hill to Dr. Freeman at Dove Lewis when we lived in Portland. Dr. Freeman was really quite wonderful. She used to sit on the floor with me. And then there was Jim. Jim always had the best treats.
My Mum and I didn't really didn't mind the trip south to Winter Haven, though. I love car rides and these were exceptionally special since it was only the two of us. Mum got to visit her dear friends, Aunt Norma and Uncle Bill, while I had toxic chemicals pumped into my veins. Mum is actually working to assist Aunt Norma with her extraordinary textile collection. Technically, "textile" is a misnomer. Aunt Norma collects EVERYTHING and she shares it with EVERYONE! Kimono, headdresses, quilts, saris, hanbok, kanga, purses, jewelry, Limoges, dolls, books, furniture... You name it and Aunt Norma probably has one. Probably two. Just setting paw into her studio is a spine tingling honor. The smells are undetectable to the human olfactory organ but to me, they are intoxicating. Hundreds of years of stories waiting to be unwrapped and told anew. Who do you think actually WORE that WWII Japanese uniform or that antique Chinese robe? And that mystical Zulu headdress adorned with all those beads and feathers and bones! Was it for an actual battle or merely a ceremonial dance? I could almost HEAR the laughter of children and the thunder and the battle cries and the animals and the music all bubbling up from the centuries, echoing from corner to corner, room to room, calling out to me. I was bathed in that ethereal glow of past-life memories that never ceases to perfect the past.
But I digress. Mum and Aunt Norma and Uncle Bill would luxuriate in a world of beauties and then have lunch. At the end of the day (and I mean that literally, not in that hackneyed, buzz phrase way), Mum would pick me up, shaved, prodded, poked and medicated, and we would head back north. There was always at least one vehicle accident because, as I said, no one in this state knows how to drive. Such carelessness resulted in extra hours upon hours on Interstate 4.
Last week, my left hind leg started itching on the way to see my new vet, Dr. Lurie, who, thankfully, is only 30 minutes away. There had been something slightly annoying back there but since I can’t see it, we all ignored it. After all, my Mum, gropes EVERY lymph node EVERY MORNING. I’m frankly astonished she hadn’t noticed it but it wasn’t anywhere NEAR a node. The ride in the car, however, allowed me to prop my butt up against the brand new leather seat back and curl around in such a way as to allow me to FINALLY scratch it! Well, that certainly didn't work out the way I’d expected. Dr. Lurie identified a “mass” and shaved my bunny butt fur right off. Mum was horrified. I was embarrassed. Dr. Lurie was concerned. It is a large (well - large if it's on your butt), hard, circular disk-like mass. And it was bleeding from the center. While it WAS my week off from chemo, I wound up on a broad spectrum anti-biotic and pain medication. The antibiotics wreaked havoc with my digestive system and the pain meds just knocked me out. And that was just the beginning.
Five days later, test results came back and my nodes are misbehaving everywhere. I am now on something called asparaginase aka elspar. They are also giving me some sort of anti-inflammatory for whatever it is that is growing on my back leg. (Trust me. Unless you are in the medical field, you don't want to see it and even then, it may burn your retinas out.) Mum TRIES to keep the cone of shame on me. I act so sad and downtrodden, it usually lasts only a few minutes. She had to trim the one we had because it was much too big for these short yet stout Corgi legs. The trimmed edge was a bit rough so she stitched a piece of 200-year-old kimono silk around it. Her Japanese superstitions dictate that the spirit of the young girl who wore the kimono during the Meiji Period (1868-1912) will keep me strong. While I am NOT superstitious, I’m hoping she’s got something there. If nothing else, it was definitely a fashionable step UP from the normal cone. Aunt Norma said it was no longer the “cone of shame.” She calls it the “cone of elegance and strength."
|Just a LITTLE wet|
Prior to all this nastiness, everything was almost approaching acceptable! We spend our days out by the pool. I have the perfect perch under a sprawling palm tree and Tomo and Yuki stay close and annoy Mum while she tries to read. Neighbors occasionally stop by to gossip. They bring treats so I have no objection. I DID manage to fall into the pool one day and after my dad fished me out, I promptly ran into the house and shook all the water off while standing in the center of the hand-knotted, wool Persian rug. I could have settled on the much less expensive machine-knotted rug but when shaking and leaving your mark, why not aim for the best, I always say!
|Has Hefner called?|
We had an uneventful Easter. No chocolate or eggs here however Fred couldn’t help but get dressed up in bunny ears to match his bunny butt. I’ve warned you about Fred’s penchant for cross dressing and dressing up. The only egg around was the one Douglas Macaw-thur came from. Mum has Douggie's empty egg shell encased in stained glass with her hatch day etched on the top. By the way, Douggie would be irate if I didn't mention the fact that she was written up in the neighborhood newsletter. They used the above photo and no one can believe she actually hatched out of something that small! Being the star pet of the neighborhood hasn't really gone to her head. She's a rather grounded old bird.
|Agility training speed bumps|
For the time being I am resting comfortably, waiting for the elspar to kick in. I sit on my Mum’s feet under her desk and the three amigos block the way out of her office like a canine obstacle course. We’re all hoping this new drug gobsmacks those nasty cancer cells back into remission in time for my 12th birthday on May 25th. If not, I call on you to celebrate my birthday without me. Nothing austere or maudlin or melancholy for me. I want raucous! I want outlandish! I want worthy of a call for bail money! Knowing you for the party animals you ARE, I’m sure that won’t be a difficult task. My Mum and Dad may be a bit gloomy for a while but no one said this was going to be easy. Dad keeps saying the bad news is that dog’s don't live long enough. The good news is that human beings get to know many of us over the course of their lifetime and since we provide unconditional love, what more could you ask. Mum’s good friend, Ed Gero, who recently bid adieu to his gallant friend Puck, put it well: "The price of companionship is a loving act at the end." Well, Ed IS an award-winning, wildly acclaimed, immensely talented Shakespearean actor. What did you expect? "Either he's dead or my watch has stopped." (Bonus points awarded if you know who said that. No google cheaters, please.)
Til next time - Keep Calm and Corgi On!
The Barney Dog