I found out on wednesday that my Corgi (13) is very ill.
Her breath was rapid and labored and she would not eat.
Her symptoms revealed themselves while she was staying with my parents. (My father is recovering from Oral Cancer and finds pleasure in her company.)
She has an enlarged heart, fluid around her heart and lungs, and her lungs don't look right.
Everyone loves this dog.
I brought her home when I was nineteen years old; two days after I dropped out of Art School. Shortly after, I rented a studio in a buliding full of artists down by the river.
A photographer who was my studio neighbor once asked me if it bothered me that everyone liked my dog way better than they liked me.
I painted 3 public murals in town. She hung out patiently on the sidewalk beside me, so I painted her likeness in each mural.
She's the kind of dog you can trust in any situation. She doesn't like too much attention. She just wants to hang out. She has inherent manners.
Mr. Flophouse called me 4 times from work on Wednesday. He never calls from work. When he came home, he gave her affection and then said the strangest thing to me:
"She will pull through this! I'm sure that she will be ploughing through the snow one more Winter........But.......We might have to put her down on your birthday in February."
(yep, I'm serious..take a moment to read that again if you have to.)
-I chalked his reaction up to, well...A reaction. He loves her too.
My mother called to wonder aloud if an enema would improve her odds.
-This I did not take so well.
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