Chloe girl

Chloe, our dog, had a seizure this morning.  It was her second in two weeks, but the first that we witnessed.

Gripped by convulsions, I was sure that she was dying. Afterward, she lay panting, frothing at the mouth, and the best we could do was to rub her and tell her that everything would be ok.

She tried to get on her feet, but fell down as she stumbled into the wall. I sensed her terror but was helpless. The hair on her back bristled and I felt then the same hesitation to trust her as I did the night that she wandered into our yard 7 years ago, a young pit bull with an unknown past.

The vet says that it is probably brain cancer and that we should expect the seizures to increase in frequency and severity.  We ran some preliminary tests that didn't offer any answers. We don't plan to order anything more to confirm or deny our vet's intuition.

Since Roscoe was born, the place that our pets held in our hearts has been filled-in with life stresses and parental responsibilities. Our focus and our priorities are so different now than before, and our jaded perception of pet ownership (animals captive in homes) looms large. (Does anyone else ever think of this is an odd phenomenon!?) We feel guilty every day over the seismic shift in our attitude and, as genuinely as we loved Chloe (and still do in so many ways), it's hard to admit.

Chloe has always been such a sweet and loyal dog, our little bully.  I often feel that she deserves so much more than we can offer her now, life is just so demanding.

Knowing that she is sick, now makes the guilt feel even heavier than before. Two whole years have elapsed. I hope that we have time to make it up to her.