While petting Regis last night, I noticed a sizeable lump on his neck, and his yelp indicated it was clearly sore.
The vet confirmed my worst suspicion this morning, lymphoma. We won't be 100 percent certain until the pathology report comes back, but he's seen it a million times and there is little doubt in his mind.
I had pets as a kid, but have never bonded with them the way I have with Regis. He doesn't even seem like a dog to me, he seems like a full blown member of the family.
As usual, he's at my feet right now and those big, brown eyes are looking up at me. It's clear he's frustrated by the pain. I would do anything to take it away, but canine lymphoma never ends positively.
I expected that he and Grayson would be good buddies and do everything together. The first word Gray learned in sign language was "puppy." At dinnertime, Grayson sneaks bites of his food off the edge of the table for Regis to pick up. And to think he isn't even old enough to keep our "puppy" in his memory.
It's likely we have only three to six months left. You can bet we'll make the best of it, and be thankful for the seven great years he was here.
I miss him already.