Bela is a dog.

"Every dog is different. Just like people, some dogs could live for years after this diagnosis," the vet said. "But most dogs will only have about 3 months."

Aggressive osteosarcoma.

 

Here is where the evil lives.

Bela has been pretty sedentary for the couple weeks since her diagnosis. I've been particularly attentive to her and every rule she's come to know has been dissolved. She eats from the table. Sleeps on the couch. I bought the expensive treats for her: duck jerky and chicken wrapped peanut-butter biscuits. I get nervous the rare times she becomes energetic. I remember once when my cat, Cali, became suddenly overly-affectionate. She climbed into our laps as my family sat in the living room. A few hours later, she passed on, seemingly out of no where. Later we would talk about how she knew the end was coming and made the rounds saying her good-byes. So it makes me nervous when Bela makes an effort to sit next to me.

She is my best friend. I rescued her from the Orange County Humane Society. She had only been there 2 days when I visited. She was the most recent arrival. She was filthy and smelled of death, but she tried her best to push through the fence of her kennel when I walked by. It really bowls me over when I think that there was a time when I had an opportunity to decide if she would be a part of my life. I can't imagine what my life might have been without her. She is my best friend.

There is a song I made up about her. It goes: "Bela is a dog who's got four paws and a furry face." You can sing it to any tune, really. The other day, I got a bit of a chuckle over the irony the song would have if she'd've had her leg amputated. This is, without a doubt, a shit situation. But we're trying to make the best of it.