The Old Car

My old car has finally gotten to That Point. I know, it's not a living thing (and after 130,000 hard miles, many of them in NYC and NYC traffic), but it was the car that Leo knew, loved, and spent a lot of time in.

A difference

I received a letter recently from the University of Georgia School of Veterinary Medicine.  Which alarmed me, at first - I hadn't applied for a fellowship at Georgia, and certainly not at the Vet School (I'm a paleoclimatologist - for real!).
This letter was to notify us that a donation had been made in Leo's name by the folks at VERG to the UG Veterinary School.

I am surprised, grateful, and impressed. It seems that our boy made a real difference on the folks at VERG, enough that they decided to give back in his name. I sincerely hope that some day one of those students going through there finds a new treatment, a better drug, a refined protocol that gives dogs like Leo another month, another 3, another 6. And I hope that my boy and (I hope) what was learned from him, and what will be learned by some vet student studying in a chair or alcove or at a desk or under a window or whatever it is that is forever Leo's at UG helps some other family and dog with their cancer struggle. I hope there's at least one dog that gets another hike, another walk, another camping trip. Because a year wasn't enough. Three and a half years weren't enough. 12 years wasn't enough. But another day... that's what it's about.

Home

Leo came home today. His ashes, anyway.

Sometimes I swear I still hear him, the jingle of his collar. The other day I nudged the Bally that was still sitting under the couch. It's still there. It'll be there 'til I leave here.

I know where Leo's ashes will wind up. A few places, I think. The park. The campsite. An urn on my mantle, and on L's.

And in 2 days I need to summon up all of his courage and strength, and maybe even a little of his ferocity, and defend my thesis. He got me through writing it. Now I have to get through talking about it without him.

He's in there, though. I probably have one of a very few theses that thanks a dog, posthumously. But then again, he wasn't any dog. He was Leo.

Recounting

At the end, it was peaceful. We went in on Wednesday knowing, but hopeful there would be something else. But there wasn't. We exhausted all of the options. His skin was getting worse. His lymph nodes were beginning to occlude his throat. His face and eyes were sunken. 

But he was still being Leo, right up until the car ride. In fact, he tried to jump out of the car when we got there.

The End.

This blog was called “A Year With Leo” because that’s all we should have gotten. Median survival for canine lympophoma is something like 12-14 months. We got three and a half years. But no more.

Near this Spot
are deposited the Remains of one
who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferosity,
and all the virtues of Man without his Vices.
This praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
if inscribed over human Ashes,
is but a just tribute to the Memory of
LEO, a DOG,
who was born in Pennsylvania August 5th 2003
and died at Brooklyn Aug. 19th, 2015.
(From Byron, Epitaph to a Dog)

Tough to hear

His skin is not doing well. Whether it's skin that is affected by the lymphoma or is it just prednisone is a question, but does it matter? Under his arms, parts of his back, and even his face are affected now. There’s even a spot under his chin. He's beginning to fall apart, literally.

Different

Something is different today. Not sure what, but something… his eyes, and his face don’t look like they should. Sunken. Not right. He just didn’t seem right on the walk ths morning, and his energy is pretty low. His lymph nodes are also a getting bigger. Fast. They’re a lot bigger (or more noticeable) than yesterday, and the one on his right side has the double marble feeling. That’s not good.