Quizz snuffles around the vet’s exam room, leaving wet smudge marks along the linoleum floor. The joy he takes with each sniff makes me wonder if dogs see smells or not. Multiple shoes squeaked along the floor with the occasional warning of a dog or cat having made it through the vet tech’s legs have his ears perking up in anticipation of a new person to greet and love. He’s never been able to hold his licker. A sweet pittie smile and hard wagging bum lifts spirits every where he goes.
The unexpected hairless, pink, slightly crusty, round protuberance, located on Quizz’s left butt cheek, is the reason for our visit. Suspicious, Quizz sits each time the vet attempts to examine the unsightly lump. The pathetic face does nothing to soften our grip as we keep him on his feet for the vet to takes samples using a couple of large-bore needles. Released from his loving restraints, Quizz reassures everyone in the room all is forgiven.
The vet, a longtime admirer of my fur child, returns with his initial findings. “Now, I don’t want you to freak out. Quizz had two mast cell tumors.” Quizz dances around our feet oblivious to the conversation. “You were right to get him into the office when you did.”
I hate it when people say ‘don’t freak out’. I am a Gaskin, our freak-outs are things of legends. I will save any expressions of concern and worry until I get home. “What do we do?” The words tumors, surgery, optimistic all hang in the air as we discuss options.
Quizz will ring out the old year with surgery… To be continued.