Mazowe, our indomitable Welsh Terrier, turned 14 in May. Welsh Terriers have a life expectancy of 12–15 years. In our Scottish vet's unadorned words, his age makes him positively ancient – though you'd never guess it from the fervour he brings to mealtimes. He earned the moniker 'table shark' when he was younger, partly for his habit of circling a meal table and partly for his slightly recurved tail, evoking a shark's dorsal fin – the telltale first sign of his arrival.
We've been managing the inevitable infirmities that arrive with old age, but we now find ourselves at a fork in the road. Mazowe has to have surgery to address a soft tissue sarcoma on the lower part of his left leg. We've been monitoring it for six months, wary of the toll surgical recovery takes at his age. The tissue has now become distended and carries a risk of rupture, which forces a decision on intervention.
With heavy hearts, we are electing proactive surgery over gambling that something already progressing will suddenly arrest. Managing palliative care through anti-inflammatories alone feels like a half-decision. It is a choice in favour of control, judged between awful and fractionally less-awful options.
Given his age, we are realistic but optimistic. He is in good health otherwise, and we're hoping he tolerates the surgery well. It's scheduled for next Friday.
It is going to be the longest seven days.
