You'd think there'd be some sort of rule about how much heart-break a person could have dumped on them at any time. But no. Just as I'm trying to get over my dad's death, there's devastating news about Dylan the dog.
A couple of weeks ago we took Dylan to the vet with 'toilet trouble'. Since we adopted him at about a year old he's always had stomach troubles (blamed on the time he spent living on the streets), and this seemed like just another bout of them. Then the vet said 'cancer', and 'probably not treatable'.
We'd even been out walking at Shipley that afternoon and Dylan had seemed his normal lively self (even doing his jump-on-the-picnic-table trick), so at first a huge part of me didn't believe what I was hearing, but every test has confirmed the diagnosis, and all the vet can offer is palliative care.
Since then he's had some off-days when he won't eat, or seems more tired than usual, but a Twitter acquaintance suggested trying cannabis/CBD oil (don't worry, it doesn't contain the ingredient that gets you high), so we did, and it seems to have made quite a difference to him. There's anecdotal evidence of it even curing cancer, but I hardly dare hope for that (wouldn't it be wonderful though?). With luck, though, it might lengthen the time he has left, and hopefully make it pain-free and comfortable.
What matters most is that since taking it, Dylan seems livelier and happier. For now, he still likes going out and about, investigating new trees and lampposts, and generally seems to be enjoying life - and that's what matters. I don't want to look too far ahead at the moment, just take each day as it comes, and enjoy being with Dylan.
RIP Dylan - 24/5/19
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