Zeke's final days

Zeke has lived a week since his cancer diagnosis. I've cherished every moment. He still takes his treats and eats his food ravishingly and wags his tail whenever I call his name, but I know his days are numbered. He has two days left of his predisone. What will happen then?

This morning I met Susan by our meeting place by the casa to walk our usual 1.6 miles along the river. It was a calm autumn morning.  I took Hansel, Gretel and Sahne. I wanted to bring Wolfie but Wolfie turned back and wanted back in the yard, although he and Sahne needed the exercise the most. 

I worry about Wolf now, too. He yelped in pain when I touched his chest last night to move him to the side of the bed. He seemed low-key all day, staying close to Kevin and me. He's also had eye snot these last three days.

Zeke is my focus right now. I'm heartbroken over him. His tongue this morning was grey instead of pink, an indication of his poor blood right now, thanks to the cancer. I had to force his pill down his throat. How much longer can he survive? I look at him and still see a young dog, only a young dog cut down by a terminal illness. 

When his snout started turning grey at four years, I figured he'd have a white face by ten. His face is still mostly dark brown sprinkled with white, except along the sides where the white is more prominent.