Yes, my friends, the results are in.
While they are not 100 percent and can not rule out a benign tumor until they biopsy the actual tumor, the cells from the biopsy were highly suspicious.
The lab report listed suspected malignant melanoma.
Poor little Grendel. We used to joke about how she would lay on her back in our California backyard and work on her tan. Not so funny.
I thought the fur would protect her. Did you even know dogs get melanoma? I didn't.
So, she's scheduled for surgery. All growths (one of the others was a glandular cyst) will be removed with wide margins. It's weird to think your dog has cancer.
I am petting her even more. Screw her diet, I fed her salmon and pasta lightly tossed with sauteed spinach, garlic, and shallots last night. I fed her real dried sticks of pepperoni. Screw it. My baby is going to enjoy life like there is no tomorrow.
The kids are a bit sad. CG, on a business trip, had to find a good place to take my call last night because he might cry.
You see, Grendel is his desk troll. Since CG works from home, he's at his desk 8-12 hours a day. Grendel stays at his feet and follows him when he gets up for an espresso or lunch. Although CG has never been a dog person, he loves that dog probably more than us all.
He was there when I got her in college and he was a champ with moving her between our no-pet apartments, so the landlords wouldn't find her. We finally moved in together and top on our list was finding an apartment that ended up charging rent for us and on the lease, rent also for our little Grendel.
Grendel gave me a scare yesterday. You know a dog is old when she no longer greets you at the door. Only one waggly tail, Seb's, was there. I searched the house with a sinking feeling. Not under CG's desk. Not on the office couch. Not curled up on her bed in our room.
I found her curled up in a ball on Li'l Man's bottom bunk. There she lay in a puddle of warm afternoon sun. She does love her sun. I sat down on the bed, began to pet her, and still she didn't awaken. I checked more than once to see if the old girl was breathing. Yep.
No way could I have walked in a room even a year ago and she wouldn't wake up. We think she's almost totally deaf and the slight cloudiness in her eyes hints at cataracts to come.
In the college apartment, she would pop her head up at the bay window when she heard our car round the corner of a busy street. Yes, she recognized the sound of our car. Now, she doesn't hear the car, the kids as always loud, exuberant, welcoming voices, the keys in the lock, or the turn of the knob. Nope, she sleeps on dreaming of chasing squirrels.
When I took her back to the vet on Monday, the sheer pleasure she got from hanging her head out the window reminded me of the old Grendel. Now days, she doesn't want to leave the house.
All of you must know of someone elderly who doesn't get out much. They are happy in their routine. They, in the twilight of their years, putter around the house and watch their TV programs.
So, too, is Grendel happy in her routine. She curls around her masters feet in the dog cave under his desk. She still gets excited for cookies. Still loves the breeze in her face from a very infrequent car ride. Still loves to sleep in her puddle of sun.
As long as she is happy, I'm happy.