In October of last year we thought he just had a loose canine. But, a trip to a doggie dentist and the tumor was discovered. It has grown very rapidly, and now it has moved in to nearly the entire left side of his lower jaw. It looks nasty. But more than my impression of its appearance, is the way that it is slowly draining the life out of my handsome, noble, beloved Boxer. Tonight, he hemoraged. We've had that before, but tonight's battle left behind a lot of blood. His life's blood.Eli isn't my first Boxer. In 1980, his great-great-granddaddy, Skye, came to live with me. I was raised with Boxers, and had always wanted another, and when I brought home Skye, I had dreams of an American Kennel Club Champion. Skye, though, had different ideas and preferred to lay in the sun, or dig a fox hole under his dog house. He had no desire to compete, but when a lovely young lassie from down the street caught his eye, I became a grandma. Kona was beautiful, and she didn't want to be a Show Dog either!
A fluke brought Kona's son, Tyson, back into my life -- and his daughter, Kindra. And it was Kindra who gave me my beloved Eli. I know! It's a long, weird twist and turn in breeding that takes you back to the beginning, and the long and the short of it is he had a bad tumor night. Another night when I wonder if I'm giong to have to make an emergency run to the vet -- for his last time.
I was scared tonight, yet found a place in me that was calm, and clear, and moved through the motions of stopping the bleeding as quickly as possible without a loss of time. Then it was cleaning him up -- and for a dog that was formerly a Big Dog on Campus, he is mortified when we have to take a wet washcloth and clean his chest. He just doesn't like that one bit.He was so amazingly handsome. I had dreamed all my life of having a Boxer as beautiful as he, and now when I look at him, I see even more beauty. I see such heart, and determination, and acceptance of what "is". He doesn't argue with his body, or his god, or with nature. He accepts What Is, and rests when he is tired and pursues passions when he is awake. He doesn't play with toys like he used to; it's too painful. But he loves to take our daughter to school and ride in the back seat. Or go for a spin around the block with our little black dog.
It's late, and I'm tired. I might change this blog in the morning, or I might not. I might let it stand to honor a Champion -- not just a title on a piece of paper -- but the bestest Champion in my heart that I have ever loved. And I have loved some awesome dogs in my day. But Eli? He came to do a job and that job was to make me happy.
And he has done a damn find job of that.
