The metronomic pelting of water against my skull summons a random thought. That that is what I must blog. A blogger should post every day. My mouth goes like a duck's arse, so it is usually not too difficult to find things to say. But the issue is, is what I write about worth saying at all? The truth is, I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to blog about each day until it hits me, in the shower, and I have the razor cuts to prove it. But the thoughts this past month have been so daunting, it has almost been too difficult to write. My best friend lost her battle with cancer. Then, yesterday, my other best friend, my dog Reggie, who has pulled me through two solid years of collecting the shards of my own shattered life, was diagnosed with Myxofibrosarcoma. Evidently I missed the memo that this was Cancer Awareness Month.

The vet said he feels we caught it in time. The surgery to remove the beaded tumors I had played with beneath the padding of his fur are gone. For two months, I felt them growing larger. They started out as one tiny cyst-like ball I ran into with my palm as I stroked his back. It quickly began to grow larger. Within a couple of months there were two side by side and we knew then this should be looked at. My vet said 90% of these things are benign and perfectly harmless, but we could remove them and biopsy. So we did. Only a 10% chance of something is usually a comforting thought. But not this time. This time cancer was too close to my skin.

I have never held a phone to my ear and had a doctor say a long and complicated word with sarcoma at the end. It didn't matter what the first part of the word was, or if I could spell it correctly. It was the sarcoma at the end.

The odds are pretty good that Reggie will pull through just fine. They say there's only a 10% chance it will come back. But we have already been the 10%, so somehow the odds are not as comforting now, but they will do.

Life is what it is. There is so much love to live and fur to stroke, balls to chase and wet sloppy kisses to feel across the cheek.These are my focus now. As I watch his stitches dry into an air of uncertainty, his eyes search mine for comfort, and I search his for hope. We are bonded by something that nothing could ever take away. And that is enough comfort for now.