I was at the vet today with Hoover, paying the extra $20 to work him in as an "urgent" care patient at the inconvenience of people who had planned ahead, and while I was waiting for him to be called, I paged through a monthly publication about pets and other animals. Several weeks (months?) ago, I was musing about the length of time I'd be in active cancer treatment, and comparing it to a gestation. Would it be, in fact, nine months like a human? Eleven like a horse? Up to two years, like a spiny dogfish? Well, it turns out that the gestation of a giraffe can last up to 14 months—the same as my treatment! Those of you who have been to my house, or seen me in a swimsuit, will understand that I am particularly happy with this coincidence.
As for Hoover, he is already better. He seems to have been stung several times about the face late last week, and although he doesn't have bumps on his nose anymore, both his ears have stayed plush and pillowy. Nice to pet, but probably a bit weird to wear on the head. He actually hasn't been bothered, which is why, after talking to someone at the vet last week, I didn't take him in immediately. But today, when his ears were still super soft and huggable, and we're leaving at 4am tomorrow morning for Mexico, and my mom is coming in to town specially to pick up the dogs and then take care of them, I thought I'd better be a responsible parent and get him checked out. He got a steroid shot and two Benadryl ("This dose might make him a bit lazy right after he takes it," the vet said. Uh, no. Hoover has not been noticeably lower energy than usual), and he'll have six more Benadryl over the next two days. His ears are, I'm just a tiny bit sorry to say, already leaner and more real doglike, than stuffed doglike. They're still very velvety.