The Hammer's wee perfumed sort of poodle or something buddy made it through surgery. Dog was out walking in the park a few days after its hospital stay.
"Tumour was two pounds, two ounces," the dog's owner told me, every bit as proud as a new father handing out chocolate cigars.
Little dog weighed less than twenty pounds to begin with. That would be like you or me having a thirty pound tumour carved out of us.
"We should have the little shit with us for years yet," my neighbour beamed.
Before the surgery I had seen the two of them communicating as the healthy and not so healthy do when both know their time together may not be long. They are going to get to do that again some other time.
2 comments:
Hey.
Best news I've read all week!
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Having taken an interest in the news this past week myself, my neighbour's dog dying, rather than just whistling past the pet cemetary, may have qualified as the best news all week.
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