Bello is eleven. Or twelve. He has been everywhere that I have been since I was twenty six. He has seen me at my happiest and in my deepest despair. He hates it when I cry. He loves it when I dance. He should have been a mama dog.
Bello was feeling poor yesterday. Slower than usual and a little unsteady. I noticed his gums were pale so I dropped in for the last appointment of the day at Broadway Veterinary. Xrays showed a mass on his spleen. Today's ultrasound showed it to be the size of a baseball. And tomorrow morning I will hear the results of the biopsy. Over the phone. The news. Please, please, please, please let it be benign. oh please
Dogs die. If they didn't there would be dogs everywhere! But Bello... I was hoping he could live forever. Because I'm not sure how to live without him.