The dreaded C word

Ordinarily, when Maggie chooses to plop her 80+ pound body in the relatively small space between the end of the countertop and the refrigerator, I complain in exasperation, "Must you be right there, in the way?

Now I'm wishing she could always be right there. Who cares if she's underfoot as long as she's with us?

Monday we learned that Maggie has bone cancer. Specifically, she has osteosarcoma, a large tumor in her right shoulder.

Late last week she started limping suddenly. Jeff took her to the vet Monday, which is how we learned the horrible news. Our options include amputation and chemotherapy, but the vet warned neither would likely extend her life more than a year. And what kind of life would that be?

Jeff brought her home today with some medication to help control the pain. I need to call the vet myself to learn more about our options and what her life expectancy is if we choose to simply try and keep her as comfortable as possible.

Despite her pain, Maggie remains her usual mooching self, waiting anxiously for Spike to walk away from her plate of soft cat food. 

In an instant, Maggie was there to finish it off. Even in this photo I can see she's trying not to put weight on her front foot.

My heart is breaking. This is so much harder than losing my cat. The only other time I've hurt this badly was the day I had to say goodbye to Jeff as he deployed for Bosnia. That day, and during the seven months that followed, it was Maggie who stayed by my side and got me through it.My loyal friend and companion.

I'm crying for Maggie, and I'm crying for AJ and Sydney. I'm not ready to tell them what's going on. I'm not ready for their questions. And I'm not ready for their grief.

But most of all, I'm not ready to say goodbye to my dear, dear girl. How many times have I hugged her, scratching the soft fur on her neck and under her ears? Nuzzling her with my nose, I can still smell the sweet little puppy we brought home ten and a half years ago. She's never lost that puppy smell, nor that puppy innocence.

And yet I can tell she is tired. I would give anything to make her well. Instead I will do my best to ease her hurting, and hide my own pain from the two little people who will be devastated in their own way when they learn the fate of the one they've described as "the best dog in the whole world."