It's a cruel, cruel summer

I just had one of those summer weekends that make people write nostalgic novels about summer weekends.


We had nowhere to go and nothing to do. So we did whatever we wanted.

It was so, so hot, every surface wavered.

On the spur of the moment, we decided to check out something we'd normally avoid like the plague: the public pool. We were the only non-children-toting people there, and it felt like we were playing hooky from...life. I can't remember the last time I played catch in a pool with a bunch of friends and gave absolutely no thought to when I had to leave. Because we didn't have to. We could stay for hours and make fun of the teenagers trying to impress each other and eat SpongeBob ice cream bars without a hint of shame.

It was fabulous.

We played cards, we had great conversations, we built a bonfire, we watched fireworks from miles away, we looked at the stars, we ate charred marshmallows.

Sleeping late, lolling lazily in bed trying to decide what to do that day, coming in from the heat and laying in front of the fan.

No makeup.

No work.

If I'd been asked to create my perfect weekend, I still couldn't have done it justice.

And yet.

You know that feeling when you wake up from a wonderful dream, and you're smiling and you sigh and roll over...and you feel it. Something isn't right. Something happened, something's wrong, you can't remember because you're still half asleep, but it's right on the tip of your brain...

And then you remember. And as nice as the dream was, your stomach is in knots all over again, remembering whatever it is that's wrong.

Wednesday night, we felt a lump under Bubba's chin. It was big -- as big as a peach pit. So big we wondered how in the world we hadn't felt it before. Our vet is on vacation, so we debated. Take him to the emergency vet? We already have an appointment for both dogs on the 9th. Let's wait.

Friday night, we found one by his shoulder. This one was bigger than a golf ball. We debated again. Is there any way this was here before and we just didn't notice? Is there any way this is something...normal? But we knew. It wasn't there before, and it wasn't normal. And whatever this was, it was happening really, really fast to our small, sweet, happy baby dog.

Saturday morning. In the back-up vet's office.

The look on her face.

She gave me a hug.

I cried all the way home.

We won't know anything for sure until after the 9th, when we get more tests done. So we tried to stay positive. We went swimming. We played cards. We had great conversations, most of them not about dogs, and we tried.

But it was always there. On the tip of my brain. And every time it was medicine time, and Bubba took his pill like a champ with a Goldfish cracker chaser, and every time I thought, "Does he always sleep this much?" and every time I scratched his chin and felt the peach pit -- it was right there in front of me.

But I'm trying to push it back. Until we know for sure.

Two words: Lympho sarcoma. Much too ugly for my precious baby.

Keep us in your thoughts, please.