I just wanted to mention that I got back from the Vet's office a few minutes ago. Our Scottish Terrier, Duncan, is 11 years old now, going on 12. His birthday is in April but I am now sure he won't make it.
He's been staying with W ever since I moved out of our marital home 18 months ago, and I have missed him quite a lot, especially when my two boys aren't there. But I knew Duncan would be better off with W and my sons in the house he's know for most of his life, rather than in some small apartment where he couldn't run outside any time he wanted. That was until W moved out this past September, ... and apparently this has taken it's toll on his health very rapidly. He's got Lymphoma, pretty bad.
I had my sons with me while I tried to discuss this with the vet, but we came to a point where I need to talk to him out of earshot from two small children.
I met W to transfer the boys and their stuff with her right after the appointment. She, being a RN, was familiar with the options I relayed to her, none of which were very promising. We will both be speaking to the vet on Monday to discuss the options further.
I saw Duncan's littermate this past week -- a female belonging to my younger brother. She was in beautiful shape for her age, a stark contrast to her poor brother. Duncan's such a sweet little guy -- I do not want him to suffer anything like the pain his father went through.
I got through the holiday funk fairly well, in pretty good spirits even, given the usual depressive nature this time brings to those of shattered relations. But now I can foresee that my earlier impression that I am going to be fine without the AD's is really coming under it's greatest test. I think my original depression first took real root upon the death of my last pet, Angus, Duncan's father, nearly nine years ago. It looks like we're seeing Dunk's final days now, and I don't know how this is going to affect me, especially now that I have two little ones who have come to love this family member too.
