Life happens quickly.
Sometimes there is not enough space to stop turn around and take a breath.
It'll come at you sideways,
up and down,
thundering thru the wind.
And thank god all we can sometimes do,
is not think...
breath,
and just-
go with it.
Harper had been limping, on and off since Oct of 2018. Pre Cancer diagnosis of Marlow. I had taken him in to get some X-rays. Diagnosis: Degenerative Joint Disease. Arthritis. Understandable.
The brothers have become mature adult dogs.
On a good day, I could still see their jack rabbit spirit.
Shadows of their younger selves.
A version of the dogs who once owned runyon canyon & conquered it as if the mountain were somehow their own.
Charging up the side of the dirt laden incline and sliding down enjoy the slip of sand dune waves.
These are the dogs I have known and watch grow, over the past 11+ years.
So notably when I came home to find their scruff peppered in with sandy whites,
I quietly watched as their gates began to slow down.
Still with spirit.
Still with spark.
Back in October, he was prescribed Carprofen
(a puppy advil)
to help reduce inflammation and pain.
It worked for a time.
The limping recessed,
and we traveled for the holidays.
Not thinking a second thought.
He was prescribed three months of pain meds.
2019 rolled around.
One morning Marlow yelped like I had never hard before.
I stirred from meditation thinking my old dog simply fell off the bed.
I went to pick him up.
He quietly yelped some more.
I left him to rest.
It was the day of the NFC Championship Saints vs Rams.
In New Orleans.
It was a big day.
I cried on the way to my friends,
knowing that something wasn't quite right.
We watched the game as it was wrought with it's own drama.
Rams got a few questionable calls,
igniting a rumble from the Saints.
A no call-call, left fans reeling.
Prompting a Super Bowl boycott.
I watched.
Along with my friends,
I celebrated the win.
Rams were heading to the Super Bowl.
I had season tickets, since they came back home to Los Angeles.
An avid sports fan, it was kind of a big deal.
Still on my mind.
My boy.
My pup.
My partner.
My love.
I was hopeful.
He lay at home,
healing,
resting,
recovering.
From what?
I had not yet known.
We came home stunned and joyful from an adolescence turn to luxury.
An anxious beat as I unlocked my door.
Instantly I saw,
My pup lay restless,
still looking in discomfort.
I laid with him,
as Mike put on the Fyre fest documentary.
I watched damn near the whole thing.
It made me feel dirty,
duped-
still recalling the first time I heard,
of this tainted influencer frenzy.
Watching,
I got nervous for all parties involved.
But mostly,
just icky,
unsettled.
IT
*Fyre Fest*
was--
An awful idea.
Nearly an hour in,
I watched,
as Marlows belly seemed abnormally distended.
Starting with an online search,
I began to think-
the worst...
what I thought,
was the worst,
Had His belly flipped?
Had he accidentally eaten
something-
in the dirty streets,
an infection?
...I took him to a 24 hour hospital.
A new Vet on Ventura 10:15 pm.
Under Construction and dirty.
This is where I got the news.
I went to the bathroom,
In a separate building,
which was being used for storage.
On my way,
I saw the vet...
smoking a cigarette.
At the time I had a thought....
...She hadn't given me a diagnosis yet,
"...is she out here because it's bad?
Or do all smokers end up in darkened alleys...
alone,
quiet...
hiding???
...that was my thought."
Ten minutes later I was called back into the examining room.
I don't remember what happened much after that.
Besides seeing an Xray lit up with flashes/spots.
There must've been twenty plus.
I only understood the news was bad,
because this woman...
This smoking woman.
Alley Rat of a Vet,
in a saddened tone
(this is what I remember)
(sadness spoke)
night Vet,
woman-
was delivering to me, news,
I don't think
I was not capable of understanding,
I could not fully process,
At the time.
I was full saturated,
to the brim with a preoccupation full of depression.
Just eight months earlier, my Mom-
after good numbers, and remission...
Gone,
Still not fully understanding all I could about-
Leukemia,
the cancer that took my mother...
now too my beloved Marlow...
Diagnosis: Lung Cancer.
Apparently in dogs,
once cancer has metastasized (spread) to the lungs,
There is nothing more to do.
The kids who were seated at the desk,
watching a re-run episode of 'Friends'
In a reflection of a window
airing in the lobby,
handed me a bill.
A pill popper,
and a pamphlet.
I didn't want that shit.
My dog didn't stub a toe.
My dog has cancer.
...I paid my bill.
Thanks for playing.
...I got a month.
He was gone February 23
Now. Six months to the day.
I was picking up his brother.
His litter mate,
His best friend,
My best friend
Who just had his leg amputated.
Diagnosis: Bone Cancer
Not arthritis,
Not Degenerative Joint Disease,
Not simply a "broken leg that had been shattered",
...and would continue to break.
Like a horse???
I had two options,
do nothing-
and consider Euthanization,
OR amputation and Chemo...
I chose the later.
Harper is now Hopper.
He may be quicker than before.
When I get a twinge of excitement,
Because he's finding his new gait.
I get pinged with sadness,
Catching myself,
acknowledging-
reality, acceptance, surrender...
Mom: Leukemia
Marlow: Lung Cancer
Harper: Bone Cancer
There's no beating this.
Dogs can teach us a lot about life...
And still...
we persevere...
We carry on.
Comments