I've never had a dog with cancer before. We can't even think of treating this. Her lungs are shot through. The vet says that he's 85% sure it's cancer; if not, then it's something that can be "managed" with steroids. So she'd never be healthy again. She's only 5. She's the meanest little dog, always yapping and snapping at Xander, but Bonnie loves her dearly, and is, of course, heartbroken. She cried in my arms there at the vet's, even as he pitched an advanced diagnostic plan that he knew I was going to reject. In the midst of all this, I realized that she hadn't hugged me in so long, and I felt strong as those arms held her up. Xander started telling her that she should get a puppy, and laid his cheek on her shoulder in sympathy.
I let JuJu hang her head out the back window and snap at the oncoming cars on this, her last ride, and Bonnie rested her forehead against the other window, her wet eyes reflected in the shadow on the glass. In spite of my baby's grief, I still had to laugh when I checked my side-view mirror and saw JuJu's eyes practically bulging out of her head every time a vehicle approached from the other lane.
Even Daniel choked up a little when I told him.
The vet will come to our house on Monday and put her to sleep ...