Sometimes teeth is all a dog’s got
Kitsune is home with me, having spent the last month or so with my mom. She’s better-equipped to care for him, living in a house with a few steps out into a big fenced-in yard, and having also cared for a previous dog with cancer. She’s handled most of his day to day stuff, with as much support as I could provide… until today, when Shit Happened.
If you’ve ever had a loved one with cancer, you know it beats the hell out of your body, mind, and soul. In the past few years, my mother, aunt, and grandfather have all been treated for cancer – and ALL of them have gone more than a little bit crazy from it. So, cancer makes you a bit insane. I accept that, and I’ve had to accommodate that. I don’t understand the how or the why, but I recognize it and realize it’s mostly a temporary bit of insanity.
Early today, Kit was apparently in a bad mood. Probably in lots of pain, but much more aggressive towards mom’s dog Della than usual. Della is a young Golden Retriever, loves to be the center of attention, and sometimes annoys the crap out of Kit – sometimes she physically aggravates him, too. Kit’s cancer is localized in his left front leg, and it causes him to limp when he walks; this was what led to the vet visit that yielded his osteosarcoma diagnosis in the first place.
So, Kit’s having a bad day, Della is driving him nuts, and Kit snaps at her. Repeatedly – “leave me the frak alone!” Cancer makes you a little crazy, sometimes. Mom, concerned for her young Della, gets in front of Kit and tells him “no, I don’t like when you do that…” all while pointing her hand a bit too close to his face.
Faced with aggravating pain that’s driving him batshit, a young retriever who won’t shut up and leave him alone, and my mother yelling at him, Kit growled – he warned her – and then bit her hand.
Cancer makes you crazy.
Of course, minutes later, my phone rings. Mom is absolutely terrorized by this geriatric 13 year old dog who’s dying from cancer, and is at wit’s end. And her hand is bleeding – a puncture wound to the base of the thumb, in the fatty tissue on the palm side. I must say, while I know he never intended to harm her, he did get a pretty good bite.
Fast-forward a few hours – during which mom goes out to lunch with some ex-girlfriend of mine who was in town for the day (right, nevermind), decides lunch beats getting her hand looked-at by a doc – which she still hasn’t done – and then gripes to me for an hour about it. Yeah, my dog bit you – after he warned you to get that hand out of his face. Remember 2 years ago when you had cancer, dear mother? I’ll take a growling snarling dog pissed off dog with huge teeth over that, any day. My crazy mutt won’t bite me, because I won’t antagonize him when he’s on his last nerve.
I drove up tonight and picked up Kit – who by now is in a much better mood. Soon as he got home, Zeus (our little Manchester Terrorizer) got him into some play in the living room, and he’s feeling pretty lively. He hates the steps – one drawback to a nice townhouse is you get a good Stairmaster workout from the front door to the main floor, and again from living room up to bedroom – but he climbed them on his own.
He’s still my fluffy mutt. He’s still a big silly sweetheart. I don’t know how much time we’ve got left – and he’s obviously not any better today than he was a week ago – but he’s still smiling. The tail still wags. He still loves my attention. He still has lots of love in his eyes.
And now, I’m finishing this so I can go spend more time with him.