So this is my dog, Wally. Not only is he beautiful, but he can run like the wind. My daughter calls him “Sneaky” because he is so smart. For example, when my husband leaves the house on the weekend to run his usual errands, Wally will find something of his to mess with. And when we leave for work, he’ll look at us with those warm brown eyes and then latch onto a part of our clothing so that we can’t leave so easily. What he doesn’t know is the latching on is unnecessary–he had us with the eyes!
So Wally had a limp. What the hell? A three year old whippet is not supposed to get cancer. Too small, too young, and not within the whippet’s disease description. This isn’t right and isn’t fair. This isn’t going away, either.
What to do has been the field upon which our family has battled. Two against one in favor of amputation. I’m the hold out. Yet as we get closer to the day, Wally’s limp get’s more noticeable. There is now hesitation when jumping onto the couch or bed where before there was only the jumping. Come Tuesday morning his leg will be gone. Life will be different for Wally. I am encouraged by what of read of amputation and adaptation, however I’m afraid. None of us wanted to be faced with this decision. I can only hope that it is the right one for him.
