This is my wife’s dog, Molly. She has a lump on her side that has gotten gruesome in a matter of a few weeks. She has other lumps. This one’s going to have to be excised. Excision will likely cost four-digits-in-front-of-the-decimal money. Until recently, none of these lumps have been gruesome; big and ugly, but not gruesome, and she has behaved entirely normally. Now, she is definitely compromised, either by infection or by something more terminal.
I go through my phases where I get so irritated with the dogs that I refused to even look at them, but Missus loves them so much; she whispers them. It’s an amazing thing to watch.
Molly is like a service animal. If I raise my voice at all, for any reason, like even if I am only being earnest or enthusiastic, Molly will come over and try to comfort me. We also have this thing where we smile at each other.
We’ve had her about twelve years. Above, she’s in the Dog Car, our ‘91 Corolla that Missus uses to take the dogs to the trail each day. See the custom drool mark on the door? Smells like dog in that car.