Thursday, November 16, 2006

...with visions of [chickens] dancing in their heads.

Poor Rubik, he's getting so old. 10 years this August...or is it 11? Jeez, time flies. In some ways he's really showing his age, but in others he's still a spry, at least middle-aged, dog. I've found a a golf-ball-sized tumor on his shoulder, and it popped up pretty suddenly, which tells me that it's probably not good news. Also, he's got one on his chest, near his armpit...I'm assuming dogs have lymph nodes in the armpits, like humans do? If so, tumors near the lymph nodes are never good. He's not eating nearly as well as he used to, so he's lost some weight, but he's truckin' right along. Started eating trash out of the garbage (charming) and diapers out of the pail (is charminger a word?) so he's still got energy for mischief. Sometimes I feel guilty for not taking him to the vet to have the tumors checked out, but honestly at his age would we put him through chemotherapy even if we could afford it (which we can't)? I think we'll just have to watch him and love on him while he's still not in pain. He's a helluva dog, even when I want to beat him about the head with the now-empty diaper pail.

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