The relationship between a pet and owner is sacred, beautiful, endearing, but tragically a curse. To me, Max is not property or chattel but a teacher, a student, a friend, a confidante, my family. He has seen the best and worst of me, through the most tumultous years of my life, but he was always there. He still is, I must remind myself. At this point, I have no idea how things will go. There has been enough tears and grief, but what affects me more, is the unknowing. I've always been poor at dealing with uncertainty, and to have to wait 2 weeks, counting down to the scheduled date, is wretched. 

 It feels horrible when I see photos of dogs post-enucleation, like a disfigurement that acts as a harsh reminder of their disability. Yet, dogs are one of the most resilient creatures I know. Despite his discomfort, Max is still very food-motivated, whines a lot, perks up when he hears the squeak of his toys, and enthusiastically comes to greet me when I return home. He can no longer play fetch, nor perform many of the tricks he had perfected before. He is a little worse for wear, but to me, he is beautiful. So, even with his eyes removed, I have no doubt that he will adapt well, and it is I who will be full of self-pity. However, I worry that my decision to proceed with surgery might be a bad one, and that I am putting the final nail in his coffin. The only comfort is to know that I have shared many fond memories and adventures with him, and he has lived a good life thus far. 

No matter what happens, I will accept that I have done what I believe to be in his best interest. 

I love you, little fella, please fight to stay a while longer.