About Bo

 I still remember the first time I met Bo in 2005.  We were at my sister-in-law's brother-in-law's home (did you follow that?), taking part in one of those awkward family visits.  I'm not sure I remember the occasion--clearly it was something momentous--but I clearly remember meeting Bo.  Bow was about four and half years old at this point, and he was beautiful.  Others might call him handsome, but to me, he was a thing of beauty.

He was tall and lanky; a burnished copper of a red head.  He was poetry in motion, moving with a grace that belied his size.  His ears and face were so expressive--if ever I had anthropomorphic tendencies, this was it.  And his eyes...  Soulful in a way I believe only Goldens can be.

He was obviously well cared for, and had a good foundation of training--but knowing what I know now of the family he was living with, he was probably a little on the ignored side.  And if you know Goldens, you know how distressing this can be for them.

As the small talk swelled and ebbed, I found Bo plastered against my knee--gently reminding me with a wet nose nudge if my had scratching behind his ears paused for too long.  He did eventually come up in the conversation, and it was then that the bombshell dropped.  The family was looking for a new home for Bo.  You see, they were moving, and just weren't sure they were ready to deal with a dog in a new place.  Maybe they wouldn't have a yard.  Maybe they would have a yard, but it wouldn't be fenced.  They were moving so the husband could take a new job, and he would be spending long hours away from home likely.  The wife wasn't crazy about animals--in fact Bo was just tolerated.

Regardless the reason--they could have told me Bo had spent nuclear fuel dripping out of his nose and I still would have loved him.  It seemed meant to be.  My wife (fiance at that point) and I had just purchased a home.  We were busy combining two apartment households into one, and to me, Bo simply completed our little family.  I think I remember my wife trying to be practical, but I knew he was coming home with me, and he did.  That day.

The next days, weeks, months, years rolled past like a flight of birds startled from the brush.  Bo was a truly remarkable dog and he was just a part of us.  Bit by bit, without us really noticing, Bo's face became touched with grey--he was getting the typical Golden sugar face.

It was a Tuesday evening when I found it.  A large lump on the lower lip and in the jowls on the right side of Bo's face.  It was oval, squishy, about the size around of one of my fingers, and about half as long.  Initially I thought maybe one of our cats had nicked him.  Waking up the next morning, the lump and doubled in size around, and the skin was now taut.  This seemed only to confirm my thoughts--an abscess that probably would go away once it was drained.

That afternoon in the vets office, my confidence began to slowly dissolve as I saw the concerned look on the vet's face as she palpated Bo.  Then with one clean swipe, it was immediately filled with dread and fear as the vet aspirated the lump with a needle--and no pus or purulent discharge bubbled into the syringe.  The vet took what little tissue she collected and went to run cytology on it.  When she came back I could tell the news was not good.

"Bo has cancer," she said as gently as she could.  "And it's really bad," she continued.  It was a mast cell tumor, and unfortunately given the speed with which it was growing, it was likely Grade III--the most dangerous and aggressive.  She also had noted some lymphadenopathy at the base of his neck on that side, and aspirated the lymph node to test for the presence of cancer cells.  When she came back, it was more bad news.  The cancer was present in his lymph node already--essentially the bad guys had made it to the interstate before we even knew they were there.

Treatment options included excising the primary tumor, but she didn't recommend it since the cancer was already spreading.  All that was left was palliative care.  High doses of steroids might reduce the size of the tumor--which I declined because I didn't want Bo's last days here to be tainted by changes in personality and food aggression which are all too often side effects of high dose steroids.

“Dogs, lives are short, too short, but you know that going in. You know the pain is coming, you're going to lose a dog, and there's going to be great anguish, so you live fully in the moment with her, never fail to share her joy or delight in her innocence, because you can't support the illusion that a dog can be your lifelong companion. There's such beauty in the hard honesty of that, in accepting and giving love while always aware that it comes with an unbearable price. Maybe loving dogs is a way we do penance for all the other illusions we allow ourselves and the mistakes we make because of those illusions."  --Dean Koontz, The Darkest Evening of the Year.

"Never has there been a sweeter, more obedient, or more loyal dog. Bo, you made our family your own, and you will forever be a part of ours. Godspeed my friend, may the breeze in your nose be warm and full of lively scents. We love you Bo-dog. 12/2/2000--2/22/2010 RIP."

To be continued...