Thursday, February 3, 2011
2010
I’ve been trying to write this post in my head for a long time, and I still don’t know exactly what I want to say. After two and a half years of fighting cancer tooth and nail, we lost our Princess Honeydog on July 27th of 2010. It became clear to us that the tumor was growing in March, and we dedicated the last few months of her life to spending quality time with her, and making her as happy as possible.
I don’t think I’ve ever shared here what Cameron and I did when honey became ill and we decided to pursue an aggressive course of radiation. We knew we would be able to *barely* afford it, but beyond money, our commitment to Honey and her health was to spend as much time with her as possible, and to make sure her needs were always met. Cameron changed his work schedule so that he worked only nights and I worked only days. In the two years she battled cancer, the longest stretch of time Honey was alone was about four hours, and we arranged for a neighbor to stop by. We only went on trips where Honey could come, and traveled separately when it was not an option. Honey has been cross country with us twice, she’s frolicked in all corners of Florida, Georgia, Tennessee, North and South Carolina, seen the Grand Canyon, 4 corners, the painted desert, Carlsbad Caverns, Dollywood (yes really), California, Texas, Arizona, Alabama, and even been rafting on the Nantahala. She’s swum in the Pacific, Atlantic, Gulf, and almost every river, sinkhole and lake we came across. She was our baby, our first priority and our best friend.
Through the last few months of her life, Cameron and I talked knew she would tell us when she was ready to go, and we developed a plan with our vet so she would be as comfortable as possible. Until the end, Honey was full of life and surprises. For her last month we fed her a lamb chop for dinner every night, and she developed her own special way of letting us know that was ‘chop time’ (this involved significant tail wagging and some growling, then leading us to the kitchen. I said SPECIAL, not subtle). And on her last morning she stood up and greeted the vet with a wagging tail. I will miss her every day. I was truly blessed to share my life with her.
I don’t think I’ve ever shared here what Cameron and I did when honey became ill and we decided to pursue an aggressive course of radiation. We knew we would be able to *barely* afford it, but beyond money, our commitment to Honey and her health was to spend as much time with her as possible, and to make sure her needs were always met. Cameron changed his work schedule so that he worked only nights and I worked only days. In the two years she battled cancer, the longest stretch of time Honey was alone was about four hours, and we arranged for a neighbor to stop by. We only went on trips where Honey could come, and traveled separately when it was not an option. Honey has been cross country with us twice, she’s frolicked in all corners of Florida, Georgia, Tennessee, North and South Carolina, seen the Grand Canyon, 4 corners, the painted desert, Carlsbad Caverns, Dollywood (yes really), California, Texas, Arizona, Alabama, and even been rafting on the Nantahala. She’s swum in the Pacific, Atlantic, Gulf, and almost every river, sinkhole and lake we came across. She was our baby, our first priority and our best friend.
Through the last few months of her life, Cameron and I talked knew she would tell us when she was ready to go, and we developed a plan with our vet so she would be as comfortable as possible. Until the end, Honey was full of life and surprises. For her last month we fed her a lamb chop for dinner every night, and she developed her own special way of letting us know that was ‘chop time’ (this involved significant tail wagging and some growling, then leading us to the kitchen. I said SPECIAL, not subtle). And on her last morning she stood up and greeted the vet with a wagging tail. I will miss her every day. I was truly blessed to share my life with her.
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