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We had hot dogs and apples tonight for dinner.
The whole family.
My wife Wesley and I, our three kids, and the two dogs.

Hot dogs and apples are some of Chesty’s favorites.
He’s our English Bulldog and as cute as a furry fireplug can get.
Imagine a brown ottoman with big brown eyes, white shoulderpads and a fierce underbite. That’s my Chesty.

Our other dog’s a gorgeous Golden Retriever named Belle.
We try not to feed either dog from the table very often, but tonight we ignored every dietary boundary the vet recommends.
Tonight was special.

And no, this blog entry really doesn’t have to do with YouTube or Twitter or Vimeo or the brave new world of emerging and evolving media. I decided not to capture tonight’s solemn and silly dinner on video. It’s just a slice of life frozen in my mind and conveyed here. Shared for the cathartic healing that our family needs tonight.

You see, Chester has been my trusty sidekick for the last ten years. He weathered many moves, many homes, many episodes of my life.
The challenges and the setbacks. Victories and parties. Grief and delirious joy. He’s been right in the middle. Yes, he snores and slobbers. Most bulldogs do.
He’s almost ten and a half now. That’s about retirement age for a bulldog. Like any family pet, Chesty’s always been faithful. Always loving. Always eager to be by my side… and hear my side of the story.
He tolerated and withstood so much. Fiesty, loveable Chesty.

But this tumor is something he just doesn’t seem able to tolerate.
It’s rendered him immobile and incontinent. He can only get around by scooting his rump across the floor. And that’s causing blisters and rashes. He’s a trooper, but this is hard. Even for a taciturn English Bull.

It’s a big one.
We had Chester take an MRI last week in Irving.
The radiologist calls it an ‘intramedullary mass’ in his L3 vertebrae. Most consistent with neoplasia, the doc told me. That means Chester’s tumor is actually growing inside the bone, wrapped around his spinal column. It’s pretty big, evidently, and inoperable. Radiation might help, but it would burn the tissue and weaken the bones around the tumor. We don’t know if it’s malignant or benign, but it’s getting bigger. And it’s likely to make Chesty more and more immobile. It’s already caused the dog to lose control of his hind legs and his bowels. It’s not a pretty sight.

But tonight we had fun.
We all talked about Chesty and the good times. We fed him hot dogs.
I sat on the floor and said a prayer to thank God for ALL the members of our family – including the 4-legged ones. Chesty also ate grapes, offered by my daughter Savannah, plus two apples and an orange popsickle left behind by Bo – our 1-year-old son.

I remember getting Chesty ten years ago in San Antonio. He was born on Christmas Day, 1998. I wanted a bulldog because of my days in the US Marine Corps. He’s named after Chesty Puller, the larger-than-life Marine Lt. General of WW2 fame. During my bachelor days, we were inseparable. We rode around in my red 4-Runner. He made friends easily. Chesty was always the celebrity. Everybody wanted to pet him and talk to him and get to know him. He’s just always had that kind of star-power. Me? I’m just the guy with the bulldog.

In Dallas, we enjoyed the dog park at White Rock lake. Wes and I took him on long walks around the edge of the lake, and we would always finish with a romp in the water. Chesty would have spent endless hours there, barking at the waves and snapping the water. Odd, but fun to watch. I never figured out his fascination with the lake, but he was certainly a (shallow) water dog.

Tonight, we’re remembering those days. Those warm summer days at the park and the lake. I’ll give him a warm bath tonight, to clean him up before the vet comes tomorrow. I’ll hand wash him just as I did when he was a puppy. He doesn’t fit in the kitchen sink anymore, but we’ll make do. We already have a catheter in his foreleg. The vet is doing us a tremendous favor by making this housecall. I’m certain it’s the most unpleasant kind. And yet, so many caring friends and fellow dog-owners have told me this decision – when done right – is the most humane and loving thing a pet owner can do. I hope so. No, I know so. But it’s really, really hard.

I know Chesty could survive a few more months if we invested in diapers and a wheeled cart of some kind. But that just seems to be a onerous, unpleasant act to comfort me, not Chesty. The fact is, he’s suffering and he will get worse, and there is virtually nothing we can do to avert the progress of the tumor.

So tonight, it was apples and hotdogs – for a very special dog. No fancy media. No recordings. Just a quiet celebration of a life well-lived. And in a little while, he gets a warm bath. And a long, deep hug. And maybe one more apple. For my favorite ottoman with a loveable underbite.