The first half of 2017 went all right–not great, but all right. But things rarely stay pleasant for me for very long, so while I was taking a well-earned breather from the nightmare of life I was nevertheless unable to shake the sense that something bad was about to happen.
On July 26th my sense of dread was proven to be well-founded: my sweet Basset Hound Belle was diagnosed with a large, inoperable, incurable tumor on her liver.
She has about three to six months left, during which time I intend to spoil her and make her as comfortable and happy as possible. For over a week I’ve given her steroids and nausea medications and she’s been eating with gusto.
Needless to say, my heart is broken. I thought for sure we’d have at least two more years together. She’s thirteen years old or more. My Basset Hound Fred lived for fifteen years and three months. The typical Basset lifespan is twelve years.