Every Other Day

On October 2nd last year, our darling miniature wire-haired dachshund Sally was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukaemia. Consequently, she is now subjected to a course of chemotherapy which will continue until the end of her life.

I'm not sure if the pills are bitter or sour, but I'm pretty certain she would refuse to take them if they were not presented to her in the guise of chicken flavoured treats. Every other day, she is given two pills. One is so toxic that it has to be handled with rubber gloves, and must be stored in the refrigerator in a tightly closed plastic bag.

The chemo is making her hair fall out. Right now, she is looking decidedly moth-eaten, poor thing. The good news is that she does not appear to be feeling ill -- just tired. I will be taking her to the canine oncologist later this afternoon for a checkup. I am anxious that the swellings in her neck appear to be growing larger, even though they are supposed to significantly diminish or even disappear altogether with the medication.