I ran into my mom this morning thanks to a trip to the supermarket. Turns out she’d just sent me an e-mail. This message read:
It turns out that Nubble has a couple weeks. She is taking meds that make her feel ok. She is tired because she is anemic, but she is not in pain. However, it will be in the next few weeks. Once she starts limping, or acting as if she’s in any pain at all, it will be the time.
In the meantime, she gets to eat like a pig and get all the loving she wants.
Nubble has been the luckiest dog ever to walk the Earth, so I will be taking comfort in what we’ve done for her, as well as what she’s done for me.
I get to visit with her tomorrow. The fact is, I can’t run her or even walk her anymore, and she’ll be dead within two weeks, barring a miracle. When I see her, she’ll be wagging her tail and probably doing the pseudo-crying thing she does upon greeting a few select people, which used to make me think she was kind of a ‘tard when in fact she is brilliant for a dog.
I fucking hate this.