For those of you who read here regularly, Cookie has been my beloved companion for 13 of her 14 years.
For the past several months she has had her ups and downs and the Cushings drugs made her sicker. Mid-week last week she began refusing food and could no longer walk up the stairs to where the bedrooms are in my house.
When I took her to the vet--again--yesterday, Dr. Steve recommended hospitalization for tests and observation. He has kept me informed since by phone. She is very anemic and he suspects cancer in the spleen and liver. He can call in a specialist for a more thorough diagnosis, but at her age, if it is what he thinks it is, she would not do well on chemo. I vacillated about the testing but opted to bring her home "to enjoy her for a few more days."
I have just brought all my bedding downstairs and will sleep on the sofa where we can see each other for however long we have left together.
I did not want a dog 13 years ago but when I heard her story and then met her, I was instantly enchanted. The legend is that she belonged to a prostitute in the Hollywood area, and when she was arrested, she passed her off to a homeless man named Johnny. He named her Cookie for Cookies and Cream ice cream, but he didn't keep her leashed and she got hit by a car. My son's then-girlfriend had a friend who worked in the neighborhood and everyone chipped in to pay for the vet to get her fixed up. I saw her for the first time at Tiffany's apartment and we took her for a walk in a Hermosa Beach park. I took Cookie home with me that night.
Still a puppy then, she caused some major havoc in my townhouse and for a full year she went to work with me where one of the teachers kept her in his classroom with his two dogs. Back then, we could have dogs on campus. She became the mascot for the student newspaper which I advised at that time.
We've had a long and good life together, with ups and downs, but I gaze at her sleeping as I type this and my heart is bursting with love and sorrow.