It's no secret that my attachment to Cheyenne goes way beyond what can be defined as normal. Since the first time I held her and she flashed her baby blues at me, I've had a serious case of puppy love, and she has pretty much ruled the show. I first felt the lump in her chest in December. And every day I've felt for it again to see if it had grown or changed shape or hopefully gone away altogether. No such luck. So, today, we went to the vet to face whatever it might be. As we waited for the doctor, I sat in the chair wondering what I was going to do if this was cancer. Of course treat her, but what was I going to feel, how was this going to change me, us? She sat nervously at my feet and kept looking up at me for a clue as to when we could leave this place. And I mindlessly played with her ears while inside I was shaking and wanting to throw up, wondering in what state she and I were going to walk out of here. After sticking a needle in the lump and drawing out some horrific looking fluid, the vet said something about tests and being back in a few minutes. My mind worked overtime during the wait, palms sweating, feeling in that little room that we were all alone in the world, and very ill-prepared. So when the vet returned and said benign fatty tumor, well my relief was audible, and the room and our lives came back into happy focus again. After that it was all about the park and treats and joyfulness. She's on the couch right now, fast asleep and cancer free.