It's been confirmed today that my dog has cancer. Apparently, not the kind that could spread to his other organs, like his lungs, and there's a good chance that it won't kill him. We have to check his paw regularly to see if the tumour will come back again on his paw [most likely that it will], and if it's persistantly reoccuring, then he'll have to have his leg amputated.
That ... worries me, and at the same time, I have this weird sense of calm. My dog can, and will, adapt to any change you introduce to him. But it's the thought of them ... cutting into him, taking parts away from him, even though he'll be so heavily medicated and won't feel a thing. On the way home, all he did was look up at me. If he's asleep, he'll wake up and look around for me... I have to leave my bedroom door open at night because he loves being on my bed and having a cuddle.
We'll be okay. Even though it's scary ... I have him. I have never known myself to love a dog as much as I love him. Heh ... I'd rather have to go through the pain and surgery than have my little dude experiance it.
Um.
I'd like to take this oppertunity to say, thank-you so so much to all of my friends who showed concern for both of us at this time; it's very much appreciated. And for those of you who didn't ... this may not sound polite, but screw you, and don't expect me to be there for you next time you have an emo fit. I'm sick of being there for people that are always too busy with themselves to care about anybody else.