Amy Lu's View

Our dog Olive doesn’t know that she looks pretty rough.

At least, I don’t think she does. I’m no expert on the inner life of dogs, but I’m pretty sure that she doesn’t know that her multiple skin cancer-caused bald spots (and the scabby scars that come with them) look pretty freaky. I also think (and our vet agrees) that she’s spared the existential angst of knowing she has terminal skin cancer and is in doggie hospice.

It gives Chad and me great comfort to know that she doesn’t know. (That sounds unintentionally Rumsfieldian…oh the good old days when we thought HE was a nut!) I think that’s one of the most beautiful things about animals is that they live totally in the moment without fear of the future.

Unfortunately, Chad and I do know about Olive’s prognosis, so we have to deal with the dread of facing her future. The benefit of this sad knowledge is that it does inspire us to appreciate her more, and to make sure we give her as many walks and treats and belly rubs as we can. (Okay, we may not appreciate her as much as we could when she wakes us up at 5:00 in the morning because she’s pissed at a cat).

We also know that we’re damn lucky that she’s made it this long. When she was diagnosed right before Christmas (around the time our other beloved dog, Oscar, died of old age) we were told her prognosis was not very good.

So now I present to you:

A very abbreviated version of the skin cancer saga of Olive (if I was a talented musician this could be a country song): Olive has a rare form of cancer that usually leads to death because it spreads to places like the mouth and paws and the sufferer can’t eat or walk. Olive does have it on her mouth but it isn’t affecting her ability or to desire to eat yet! And thankfully nothing on her paws. (It is also affecting her “privates”, which really makes this country song potential, but that also doesn’t seem to bother her. No she doesn’t do “yoga” anymore and sit on her haunches in a way that made it look like she was touching her privates and caused people to laugh hysterically but I think that is more due to old age). The spots she has on the rest of her body look nasty but she’s generally not irritated by them (in the winter we could have her wear jaunty jackets of denial that covered her cancerous spots and let us pretend they weren’t there but now it’s too hot).

We DID try chemo, but two rounds almost killed her (which was unexpected because usually chemo isn’t that traumatic for dogs) so now she is just being treated with prednizone and fish oil. Even if the chemo had been successful, it would have been amazing that she made it this long, so it’s pretty stunning that she is still alive. And, she is 15 years old (or so, we don’t really know because she was a stray we got her when she was about two) and 15 isn’t a bad run for a dog who doesn’t have cancer.

Plus, Olive almost died years ago when she was only around 8 and had the dreaded dachshund spinal paralysis malady (we learned that usually hits middle-aged, not elderly, dachshunds).

So we know we should we be grateful, and we are, but of course we still want her (and all our pets) to live forever. That day 13 or so years ago when she became part of our family seems like seconds ago. It was right after Christmas, and Chad surprised me one day by bringing Olive home (we had met her through the rescue organization but hadn’t officially decided to adopt her yet). We named her Olive after the book “Olive the Other Reindeer.” (Yes, there is a sequel “Olive My Love” also inspired by misheard lyrics).

There was some jostling for power between Olive and our resident dachshund Oscar (which involved a lot of humping which I found hilarious and Chad found mortally embarrassing, especially when conducted in front of guests) but they soon became deeply bonded. Olive loved “her boy” Oscar and was very possessive of him (AND didn’t think he should get too much attention from her people). While I do take comfort in thinking that Olive lives in the now, I do hope she has some sort of memory of her life with Oscar, a memory that causes her only happiness and not pain (okay, I’m probably living in unicorn and rainbow land now but still…)

Luckily for us this arranged marriage between Oscar and Olive worked out, because we soon realized that Olive has fear aggression and mostly wants to kill other dogs. She has definitely mellowed with age and maybe could even learn to love another dog in her household with enough time, but as it stands she could only abide being a “wife” for Oscar. (We used to call her “wife” as a nickname and I would often call for her out our backdoor by that moniker, which may have confused our neighbors).

I started this blog post positing that Olive doesn’t know that she is dying from cancer, but here are some things I think she does know:

• Treats are awesome. Meat is the best, but cheese and goldfish crackers are pretty good runners up.
• That Em human at Dad’s office is the best treat bestower ever.
• Mom must be followed at all times because she is the most likely household human to have food (sadly it’s usually vegetables but cauliflower is surprisingly good).
• Humans in general should be watched at all times.
• It’s good to be near humans and have them pet you and scratch your belly (and give you snacks, of course), but “cuddling” is weird and uncalled for and will only be tolerated for a few minutes.
• Parental band practice in your basement is awesome.
• There is one specific spot on the couch that belongs to you.
• CATS ARE ASSHOLES. AND STUPID. AND DO NOT REALIZE YOU DON’T WANT TO BE THEIR FRIEND. (Especially when you have ‘roid rage…okay, Olive probably doesn’t realize she has ‘roid rage).
• Even though you occasionally wag your tail when you go after aforementioned asshole cats, they are still assholes.
• You must sniff every. possible. thing. on a walk. (Why doesn’t mom realize this? But why does mom eat so many vegetables instead of meat? Why does mom let the cat live in the house? Sigh, mom must not be very smart).

Oh Olive, my love, it’s too soon, but yet we know we are so blessed. I don’t belive in people heaven, but I can’t help but dream about a pet heaven where you can hump your boy Oscar whenever you want and even glare at your cat sisters Rogue and Jubilee. You could even give your death snarl again to the family dog matriarch Poopie, whom you always seemed on verge of killing and eating in an effort to cull the herd.

But I must stop being sentimental and put the red wine down, because, for now at least, there is still a walk to be taken.