But here I am in prison

I feel like a drunken Irish folk song is in order.

I certainly got punched in the gut today. Quite honestly, this one is as bad as Beauregard.

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Norman and his legendary lick granulomas.  Everyone that met him had a solution for his lick granulomas.  Put this on it, do that, isn’t there something you can do?  Dr. Johnson said I would never solve them and I didn’t.  He died with two bloody hocks.  Bloody from his own incessant licking.

I had recently done some reading up on them.  I thought if I got a deal ahead I would take him to UC Davis to have the laser treatment, the only thing known to work, but that day never came.

Norman had been a little slow to get up for the last couple of weeks and had been giving me some crap about getting off the couch at night, going outside, getting in his crate.  Dinner was the only thing he got up for without giving me any crap.

I took him into the vet today.  He got to the scale and collapsed.  I was sure he was working it for his SAG card putting on the performance of his life, but in truth he held on as long as he could, and collapsed at the vet’s office.

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The tumor was larger than his heart.  If you met Norman, you know that his heart was enormous.  That dog had the heart of a lion, but it was also a heart of gold.  And the tumor was bigger.  It pressed against his lung nearly collapsing the lung.  It pushed through his ribs making them look like an accident victim’s X-ray.  And his rib bones were compromised.  And like Beauregard, and Miss Cleo and Ike and Xica, there was nothing for me to do.  I asked how long he had and she said that she could load him up with pain meds and I could take him home for the night.  I wouldn’t do that to him.  I let him go.

Big man, you weren’t supposed to stay here.  You hated my brother until he found a package of turkey franks.  Then you sold you soul to him.  I loved you for that.  You took it upon yourself to protect me from all comers.  You were a good dog.  You always came to check on me.  And you were a bit of prankster.  You spilled coffee all over me yesterday.  I was pissed at you at the time.  Now I wish you would spill this beer on me.

Godspeed my handsome man, I am going to miss you.

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