In Loving Memory of


Bingo


Lynn's beloved boy


Died November 7th 2007 aged 14 1/2 yrs

dx TCC August '07




Bingo



I was looking at pictures of Bingo, and thinking of how lucky we were to have had him, and how nearly we missed having him. He was a lame stray hanging around a school where we had gone to play a concert. The principal said that he had called Animal Control, and was told that it was too far to send a truck for one dog. We rearranged instruments and passengers, and took him home, with detours to the vet and U Wash Doggie, followed by de-fleaing the car. We had a rocky start, with unauthorized chewing ( including three seatbelts, a door panel, miniblinds, shoes and two TV remotes) and separation anxiety, but we talked each other into keeping him. His left foreleg healed with the elbow joint fused, but he was able to use the leg almost normally, although he had a distinctive gait, and almost every walk brought inquiries about it. A few years later, when he needed surgery to repair a torn cruciate ligament, he had a daily ride and sunbath until he was cleared for walks again. (He didn't like the walk time restrictions while he was convalescing). He was a big, handsome dog, probably a Lab/ Ger. Shep. mix, gold with a black mask, and he loved people. The kids in our local park called him the smily dog, and the day before he died a woman came up to him and asked if she could pet him. She said that she didn't usually approach strange dogs, but he'd smiled at her. On one walk, a police car pulled over, the window opened, and the policeman called "Great dog!", and so he was. I have never known such a people-oriented dog, or such a charismatic one. He charmed storekeepers, restaurant owners, waiters, park rangers, hotel concierges, the vet, and passing drivers. He was diagnosed with Cushings syndrome about a year ago, and was doing well on Anipryl. In August, we noticed him dribbling bloody urine, and subsequent tests gave a diagnosis of TCC, although we decided against surgical biopsy for confirmation. He was 14 1/2, and we didn't want to put him through surgery knowing how resistant TCC is to therapy. He enjoyed life til the end, and went for a walk and cadged seconds on dinner and peanut butter pretzels on what turned out to be his last day.

Thanks for letting me ramble on and reminisce.

Our best to you and the furpeople,

Lynn


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