Our beloved dog Perfect died yesterday, she was 10 years old, one hundred pounds and one of the most beautiful albeit crazy black Labradors you will ever have had the pleasure to meet. She was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma, a bone cancer. It occurs mainly in the limbs of larger breeds of dogs. It is aggressive, local tumors grow rapidly and the cancer spreads quickly to other areas of the body, so it metastasizes. If the Osteosarcoma is caught early enough, options are to amputate the affected limb and to begin some type of radiation. It must be caught before it metastasizes. In Perfect it had started in her front right leg shoulder and had then spread to her lungs at the time of diagnosis, three months ago. The vet gave her two to six months to live. After the shock I experienced anger toward our vet. He had been her medical provider all her life and had a few months before removed a non-malignant tumor from her butt. Prior to that she had been limping slightly for months on her right leg, he had assured us that it was due to age; arthritis in the joints, he prescribed medication. We were the most conscientious of pet families, she received routine medical care, her meat was fresh and grilled, she slept on a comfortable bed with the two of her most favorite humans at night, she lived on a mountain hilltop which regularly advertised bear, coyote, deer, elk and fox in the doggy newspaper when she did her morning rounds and evening rounds. Her bear warning howls were something to behold. And she was cuddled and snuggled regularly. I was floored when she was given such a fatal irreversible diagnosis out of the blue. We spent the past few months trying to make them as comfortable as possible for her and trying to keep our hearts from breaking too much.
If you notice limping in your pet don’t settle for a diagnosis of arthritis or anything else be adamant in asking to have your pet screened for Osteosarcoma. Limping is a major symptom of this illness. And just as with cancer in humans if caught early enough there are treatment options that can help enhance the quality of remaining life and extend the time that they will have with you. Some reflections on Perfect over the fold.
10 years ago I went to a local breeder to see a five month old female Labrador. The breeder was having trouble finding a home for her and I had always wanted a black lab as a family pet. I had barely sat down when in a flash a large, shiny as an eel, pup landed heavily in my lap, paws either side of my neck with tongue askew she stared me wildly in the eyes and then just as quickly darted out of sight. The breeder thought this would be another deal breaker. I told him she was perfect and as it turned out that was the name he and his family had given her - Perfect. When born she was the only pup in the litter, or in the history of their breeding operation who would sleep all through the night - a breeders dream. But then she made up for it during the day with enough energy for an entire litter - a breeders nightmare.
The following are a few of the reflections on some of my last days with Perfect
Perfect still wolfs down her food, expresses doggy joy when she first sees me in the morning, plays with her blue squeaky toy and tosses it toward me. She still skips when her paws first touch snow and cuddles near me for petting and licks my hand. She still does these things and more even though her body is now ri-+-addled * with cancerous tumors and she has only a few months to live.
Perfect stands with the sun shining off her jet black coat, her hard bright eyes aglow, in a field of wild winter wheat, she looks majestic, powerful as only a black Labrador can; alert among the dry golden grasses of this cold season in a snowy field.
Again she is trying to get my attention, paws on keyboard, (-+m) as I type these words about her. Her eyes glowing large, doggy grin, like that day in the field. I pray I am as brave when dying. She leaves the room now when I start to cry, so I decide to not cry around her anymore.
At first knowing that she was dying was very painful; living with her each day until her time to leave has become a mixed blessing. It is at times poignant, painful, sad, maddening, and confusing.
January 5, 2015
Well today is the day, she’s suffering. I envisioned my tears being pulled up to the sky by a great and mighty force collecting them in heavy dark clouds, I’m sending them to places that are dry, needing moisture, places of drought. I let them break open, a down pour creating large pools of water, where lakes form, where animals could gather round and drink their fill, where herds of black labs go to drink their fill and then play in fields of golden grasses that line the waters’ shores.
To Perfect: I realize I wanted you to get old and just not wake up one day warm on your bed snuggled near those you love, but now I must go and force sleep upon you and snuggle you while handing you over to Death’s door. I prayed to a God to heal you but I know that won’t work, I have proof, you’re still suffering and in pain and from past experience. I called Sandy she’s praying with love, to give me the emotional strength I will need today. She sends her love and kisses. I can find comfort in knowing that you won’t be in pain. I told Terra, who nicknamed you “The Black Muscle” that maybe ignorance truly is bliss because you’ve been soldiering on and doing all the wonderful dog things that you have always done except for today, today you’re hurting and are struggling, and I can tell in your eyes that you are in pain and seem confused and have that worried dog look on your face that you get sometimes, today you can no longer stand unaided in the fields you love. But you still like to have your ears scratched and belly rubbed and I know you love to lay in the sun on the porch, but it’s so windy, hurricane force, and I am cursing all that is divine for not letting the wind die down so you can lay on the porch in the warmth and in the sun on this day of all days. I made a drawing of you while you were sleeping, I know you don’t know, but I know and it makes me feel better. So silly the little comforts we seek in the face of such emotional pain, the pain that accompanies loss, a loss that cannot be replaced. Bruce will be here soon and then we will go to town.
January 6, 2015
Today is quiet, warm, and mostly sunny on the porch, no wind, you would have loved it.
If this post can help a family to detect Osteosarcoma early in their beloved dog, then it will have served a purpose.
*(she typed this, her paws hitting the keyboard, trying to get my attention as I was writing)