My Last Dance

 

Da, is that what you're wearing to the dance tonight?"

"Yeah."

{silence}

"Mom, can you please dress Dad?"

I have on clean blue jeans, a grey sweatshirt and two pairs of socks. Everything matches and I feel pretty good in them.  

Laughing, Sarah's already on it, finding me something more appropriate for the one hour dance at the school.

While they search, I stumble outside to get as high as I possibly can before we leave. 

I change into the chosen t-shirt to complete my wardrobe: Jack Frost from "A Nightmare Before Christmas.” Che just loves that movie.

She is dressed as a princess, sporting a dress she once wore in a wedding, with her long hair in a ball on top of her brightly bowed head. 

She is beautiful. 

Sarah drives us the 1/2 block to the school, conserving my energy, and drops us off. 

Che is a dancing machine at home, sings loudly and makes videos for us to enjoy.  She's forever grabbing me to dance and I whirl and spin her around the Living Room, like someone pretending they know how to shag. 

Which is precisely what Che wants to do now, she grabs my hand, and yells to her friends, "Watch this!"

I spin her around the dance floor, wildly flinging her as far away as her arm can reach, and then quickly pull her back close to me. We do this repeatedly. 

Only a few other parents are dancing with their children and none are moving with our passion and wild abandonment. 

This goes on for two-and-a-half songs before Brielle, Che’s friend, starts a conga line, which Che, and most every other kid present, joins. 

I stumble to a chair and collapse.

The conga line, a marvelous hodgepodge of diversity, comes by in a slithering line and multiple kids smile and high-five me as they dance by. 

A little boy I do not recognize stops and tells me that his “Grandpa had cancer too, but beat it and is still alive.”

I am sitting in stunned silence when "The Electric Slide" plays, the conga line explodes and Che grabs my hand and pulls me up for the final dance. 

 

She spins the wrong way each time the song calls for a jump, which sends us all into convulsions of dance floor laughter. 

Grabbing my hand before the song finishes, Che pulls me down the hallway, speaking and waving to friends and teachers, and outside where Sarah's waiting to drive us home.

Che jumps on her phone to talk about everything that had just happened to the same friends we'd left a few minutes earlier. 

A little while later, Che's settled for the night and I'm rubbing Sarah's feet as we talk and watch TV. 

I immediately fall asleep, hands still on her feet. 

"Go to bed," she lovingly prompts.

A few hours later, I'm back on the sofa, when Che sleepily meanders out and lays beside me. 

"We were the best dancers," she says before falling back asleep, now with her head in my lap. 

Salt water fills my eyes and I am humbly grateful that I got to do this, when the odds really are against it. 

I should just be thankful that I got to dance with Che like that one more time, when I shouldn't still be here at all, and I thank God for what could very well be my last dance.  

Here's the thing though. 

I'm determined as Hell to do again next year. 

_______________

I'm dying as happily as I can, but I think I can to better. 

See how by clicking the link this link 

https://gofund.me/ffda4f4b

Thank you!

Behind Sarah's Smile

 

It's been a jam packed, exhausting day and she's so excited to finish work, get home and collapse from exhaustion. 

I mean that's not what will actually happen. 

When she gets home we're so excited she's home that we demand everything at the same time as soon as she walks in the door. 

We need her so. 

But there's dinner to prepare (hopefully something I'll eat) and Che has to finish her homework, the laundry's not done, and she still has to meet a work deadline before midnight. 

At the moment though, Sarah can't wait to get there. 

Just to be home. 

And with us. 

Where the love is. 

"He has only been here for a few weeks," the Group Home staff person says to Sarah as she finishes her last work visit. 

“Does he have any family?” Sarah asks. 

The staff person leans in as if telling a secret and replies, “Yes, but his brother has cancer and couldn’t take care of him, so he had to move here.”

I don't know how she does it. 

But she does.  

"He's got cancer" the worker said and Sarah's heart cracks at the words, but she maintains her professionalism, and she finishes the job. 

Then she rushes home to cancer. 

I don't know how she does it. 

She really is a Wonder of a Woman. 

But she's not immune. 

"Trauma survivors often get in the habit of spending a lot of time alone, because alone is safe, relatively, anyway. Alone is controllable. We understand alone. We don't have to stress about alone."

Every woman wonders sometime, especially those surviving cancer in real time.  

Sarah stands there, hiding these things behind her smile. 

Cancer is trauma she's lived with a long time now. 

At home, she dives back into the blessed routines of the three of us, and somehow, though I don't know how, we find great joy together. 

"I'm a caregiver until he dies," I've heard her say, and I'm always taken aback at the reminder because it's coming sooner rather later.  

And there's no real rest in caregiving. 

It's 24/7 tangible expressions of love without ceasing until, suddenly one day it's over, I'm gone and Sarah has a whole other life to put together for her and Che. 

Her caregiver days come to an abrupt halt, she's suddenly a window with a young daughter, living alone, starting over, late in life. 

It's very much part of her thinking, because you have to have a plan, and Sarah is definitely a planner. 

Cancer is infused in every aspect of our lives, but when I go, I'm taking it with me, and then Sarah and Che will be free of its daily raping of our time, energy, money and opportunities. 

All of these things simultaneously rush through Sarah's mind, hearing the staff confide that his "brother has cancer and couldn’t take care of him ..."

She goes on, discussing the client's sad situation, and Sarah stands there smiling. 

But that's everything going on behind Sarah's smile.

_______________

I'm dying as happily as I can, but I think I can to better. 

See how by clicking the link 

https://gofund.me/ffda4f4b

Thank you!

My Grandaddy's Prayer

 

When Guy Sayles called me to go Seminary, no one was more proud that Granddaddy and Grandma Carver. 

During my 5th year of College, Guy calls me on the phone and tells me to come to Seminary and so I do. 

That's how I got "called". 

My grandfather, Ira Vernon Carver, was an uneducated man who loved learning, especially everything he could about the Bible,  and in his sixties is trying to teach himself Greek! He wants to read the New Testament the way it was written. He and Grandma are the epitome of good people trying to follow Jesus as best as they know how. 

When I tell them I'm attending the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Kentucky, they are estatic!

"Our prayers have been answered," Grandma gleefully exclaims and I make a mental note to tell Guy.  

They visited several times and once I impulsively ask if Granddad wants to attend classes with me and he's beside himself with excitement. 

He dresses for it as he always did, wearing a white shirt, red tie, dark sweater vest and trousers.  I wear an old football jersey, jeans with holes in the knees and boots. He fits completely in with the other students making our way through crowded hallways. 

Dr. Dale Moody is preparing to begin his "Systemic Theology" lecture when he spies my grandfather beside me. 

"Who is our visiting dignitary?" Dr. Moody asks gravely. 

"This is my grandfather," I proudly announce, "Rev. Ira Craver, Rothwell Baptist Church, in Pooler, Georgia. 

I don't really care for Dr. Moody, having no idea why theology needs to be systematized in the first place. This is my second class from him and I'm not enjoying this one much either. So I'm completely unprepared for what happens next.  

"Rev. Carver," he beams broadly from the podium, "would you please honor us and lead the class in prayer before we begin?"

My grandfather is in shock and doesn't move. I stare at him and then at Dr. Moody.  The silence is deafening!

Dr. Moody strolls over to my grandfather and places his hand on his shoulder. 

"Rev. Carver, we are indeed honored to have a Minister who is out there doing the Lord's work, like you are, that I ask you, please lead us in prayer."

And he leads my granddaddy to the podium, turns him towards the class without moving his hand off my grandad's shoulder. 

And my Granddaddy prays. 

And I cry. 

An uneducated itinerant preacher leads us all within the hallowed academic institution of higher learning (at least it was in those days)in prayer. 

He was mostly quiet the rest of the day. 

He smiled, shook hands, marveled in the library, drank endless cups of coffee in the cafeteria but didn't have much to say.  

Back home he found Grandma and the two of them disappeared for a while. 

When they left a few days later, hugging and telling him I love him, he whispers in my ear, "Thank you."

It makes me cry now, writing this out. 

There was nothing systematic about that day but the theology sure was pure. 

I think about this now because my Mom reminds me of it, and she had told my Uncle Jerry (who's going through very similar stuff as me) and they decided I'd never written the story down and need to do it right now!

So they made me do it. 

But I've had the most marvelous time visiting with them again today, crying like a baby. 
___________

I had no idea how hard my celebration of life would be! Hear all about it at

https://gofund.me/ffda4f4b

Pushing Me Around

 

When I was on chemotherapy we went to Target, though I was much too sick to go but that's how we try to live. Act like everything's normal for Che even though it's clearly not. 

Sarah guides me to a shopping cart for "people in need" and we carry on. 

Through the thick clouds of cancer fog, I see people looking at me inquisitively.

"They're looking at my muscles," Sarah loudly laughs, pushing me down the aisle.

Che climbs aboard to ride with me. 

We forget about everyone else as I focus all of my energy on enjoying bing out with my family, and not throwing up. 

I'm no longer on chemo so I don't have to ride anymore, now strolling hand in hand with Sarah and Che. I'm slow and not always steady. When we're out, I'm focusing so much on "being in the moment" it seems I'm ignoring anyone or anything else. It simply takes all of my energy and focus to go anywhere, and I'm only good for an hour or so before I'm too exhausted and overwhelmed to carry on. 

Consequently, I don't get out much anymore but when I do, my focus is on Sarah and Che and not much else. 

Sarah asks if I want to go to Walmart with her and I'm up to it, so we make our way. 

It feels good to be outside, almost normal. 

I follow along as Sarah and Che meander throughout the store, a little overwhelmed by everything going on around me. People dart in and out of my view. Most are preoccupied with their own shopping, though some make eye contact and I either nod or look away. 

A lady pushes her husband in a shopping cart past me, stopping me dead in my tracks, and I sigh at the inevitability of my own frailty. 

At that moment Sarah grabs one hand as Che grabs the other, pulling me back into my safety zone. 

Shoppings done, we check out and make our way to the car. After we get inside, the woman pushes her husband to the car parked beside ours. We watch as she struggles to get him from the cart and into the car. 

"That's going to be us in four or five years," Sarah says. 

I burst out laughing. "Four or five years?!"

Sarah laughs and drives us to the safety of home.

______

I had no idea how hard My Celebration of Life would be but you can help at 

https://gofund.me/ffda4f4b

An Audience of One

 

It's hard to make friends when you're half dead in the grave, but I ain't dead yet and I got something to say. 

Lord Huron sang that and I couldn't agree more. 

Of course I've always had something to say and, well, I've pretty much said it all, very publicly. 

The time to say things is running out though, and I'm increasingly mindful of it. 

When I was first diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer almost 5 years ago, Sarah got me a journal to leave for Che. 

"The Story of My Life" is to be written by me, promted with questions to answer, so I can leave it to Che as a gift, after I'm gone. 

I dove in with great enthusiasm, finishing half. 

Then  multiple surgeries and chemo, made me stop and I haven't thought about the journey in years now. 

Recently, Sarah meanders into the room, pulls the book out, lays it beside me without saying anything, and walks away.

It's time to finish, she says without saying. 

Writing is much more difficult now for me. It takes focus and energy, of which I'm in short supply, and that which I do have, I spend on Sarah and Che. Sometimes there's enough left over to spend on other things. 

Reading again what I wrote when I was first diagnosed surprises me, because I'm brutally honest in everything.  

Now I mostly write for an audience of one. 

I'm getting ready for the part of her life that I'm not going to be as actively present. 

My time's running out and I have a deadline to make. 

________

Gift  My Celebration of Life

https://gofund.me/ffda4f4b

Die with a Smile

 

Sarah has us asking Alexa to play our favorite songs so we're singing and dancing around the dining room table. 

It's idyllic moments, laughing together and enjoying each other fully, comes to an end when Sarah gets a call and has to take care of business. 



Che asks, "Mind if I play a song?" 

Falling into the sofa, I tell her no."

"For you," she tells me. 

The music erupts from Alexa as Che positions herself across from me, looks directly at me with blue eyes the size of moons and she sings. 

"If the party was over 

and our time on earth is through

I'd want to hold you just for a while

And die with a smile"

I am stunned. 

Che's pouring her heart into singing directly to me. 

My eyes fill with salt water and I can barely hold myself together. 

Lately, Che's been asking questions about whether or not I'm going to be around when she's this age or that.

"Dad are you gonna be alive when I'm 15?

"I don't know Baby," I shrug. "I wouldn't count on it."

She's well aware that I'm not always going to be here. 

"I just want to hold you for a while," she sings, "and die with a smile". 

She explodes from the chair into my lap on the sofa and hugs me tight for a long time. We laugh, tickling each other wrestling.  

Sarah finishes her call and we move back to the table to be with her. 

Right now, I'll take living with a smile and after I'm gone, I hope she remembers each of them. 

_____

My Celebration of Life

http://gofund.me./ffda4f4b

Dog Love

You know how dogs can tell when you're sick, and they empathize, giving extra attention, affection and love?

Lainey is suffocating me with love and affection to the point she may kill me. 

For the last few weeks, she incessantly follows me everywhere. 

When I stop, she stops, and stares at me, until my next move. 

When I sit, she lays her head in my lap, and proceeds to slowly crawl up until I relent and give her a full-on hug and belly rub. 

If I lay down, she lays down, beside me, even down to sleep and the way she snores, it could be prayers to the Lord for my soul to keep.  

I don't know. 

I've fleetingly considered taking out a restraining order on her so I can get some rest. 

Sarah and Che see Lainey's obsessiveness and try to redirect her, which is easy, because she follows their every command lovingly. 

Colt, the foster puppy, treats me like he always has, gleefully playing around my feet, or happily kissing my chin. 

But Lainey remains obsessively, compulsively, zoned in on how I'm doing, and killing me with affection. 

"Dogs know when people are dying or grieving, through body language cues, smells only they can detect and other ways not yet known, experts say (Sue Manning).

Honestly, I don't mind Lainey's constant obsessions, because I know she's just giving me extra love to keep me going. 

She's constantly letting me know that she's here with me, and isn't going anywhere. 

It's the same with Sarah and Che. 

I don't know how they mobilize all of the extra tangible expressions of love during difficult times, but they do.

It's family love, which is an incredible sustaining thing, and something of a miracle. 

That's what's keeping me here. 

https://www.gofundme.com/f/manifesting-my-celebration-of-life?attribution_id=sl:420e6d5a-d672-47a8-b770-e72372904e09&lang=en_US&utm_campaign=man_sharesheet_dash&utm_medium=customer&utm_source=copy_link

My Celebration of Life

I had no idea how hard it would be to have my celebration of life now rather than later.

When I floated the idea, the response was overwhelming with suggestions, offers to help, and commitments to travel in order to attend one Hell of a Party, complete with live music, good food and drink in a spectacular setting with hundreds of people attending.

I would never survive!

Cancer's compromised my stamina, energy and focus to "celebrate" at that level for what's left of my life.

I'm easily overwhelmed and am very measured in everything I do and a gathering of such magnitude would be too much for me to even consider.

"Oh, don't worry," John O'Neill told me, "we'll carry you out."

"That's what I'm worried about!" I emphatically answered.

My life couldn't stand that kind of celebration.

Besides, it costs a lot of money to have cancer so party costs are nonexistent anyway.

I had 28 chemo injections, each costing $26,000, that Medicare covered, except for $1,600 which we had to cover.

$44,800 of living expenses went directly to keeping me alive, at the cost of the hopes, dreams and wishes I have for my family.

That's just one example, and there are lots more but the point being, it's damn hard to celebrate your life when all of your disposable income goes to what's not covered by Insurance.

Last year I ceased all treatment, wanting a quality of life even if it's at the expense of the quantity and, shockingly, I'm still here somehow, with a chance!

I have to make the most of this time before the quality runs out and I've thought long and hard on what my celebration of life should actually be.

I'm dying as happily as I know how, but I think I can do better.

My celebration of life will have 3 things I want to manifest before my time comes to its end.

An actually celebration would be nice, but what will make it most meaningful to me is to do it with Sarah and Che. They're the ones who bring the most joy, laughter and love anyway, so who better to celebrate my life than the ones who make it?  It will be a grand occasion in a grand location for as long as possible, because this is our last chance for such a thing to happen.

My celebration will allow me to leave something for Che, something I can give her at our grand little private affair in a grand location.  A fund that is set aside for when it's going to be needed and Dad won't be there to help. I want to make this a reality too because she's going to need her "Da" then and, well, this allows me to be raised from the dead for our love child, after I'm gone, in a real and meaningful way. 

Most importantly, Sarah has to start completely over without me. Burying your husband and starting a new life as a single mother is hard under the best of circumstances, but it's a bitch when all of your money's gone to keeping me this long. Some start-up money will definitely help because starting over is easier when you have something to start over with. 

That's the celebration of life that I want to have. It's certainly the one Sarah and Che deserve. 

This  Go-Fund Me drive is to help manifest my Celebration of Life and make it real for all of us. 

So many have done so much over the last 5 years of our ordeal, it's hard doing this but, we've always tried to keep it real and, well, this is real. 

We appreciate any prayers, wishes, hopes and donations offered that help us manifest my celebration of life.  

GoFundMe link

My "Concept of a Plan" for Dying

 

I've been doing lots of reflecting.  

I don't see any reason to have a funeral after I die.  In this economy, it simply doesn't make sense. Besides I'm not a proponent of the Funeral Industrial Complex.  So there won't be one. 

Disposing of my body is a bit more of a challenge but we've got some excellent ideas.

In addition, I'm going to have my Celebration of Life sooner rather than later!

A party after I'm dead might be fun for everyone else but I wouldn't enjoy it very much. 

So, I'm thinking my celebration of my life should take place while I can attend!

That decisions been made. 

Now we're coming of with a "concept of a plan" which will be as spectacular as anybody else's!

That's the reflections so far. 

More to, hopefully, come soon.

It's been a lovely cruise

 

The Boat sways gently from side to side, slowly meandering its way across the Gulf of Mexico, so most people are sleeping soundly as they're rocked gently through the night. 

I'm sitting alone in the darkness, waking and baking on the Aft deck of the Adult's Only section, sipping coffee while staring off into the giant black abyss. 

If I stare hard enough, I can barely find the line where the Ocean ends and the sky begins, both shades of deep black.  

There are no stars in the sky. 

Not a single one. 

It's an idyllic cruise, a marvelous gathering of all of my kids and grandkids, sans Cassidy, in one place at the same time for the sole purpose of being together, here in the middle of the Gulf Stream for Christmas. 

It's easy to count your blessings when they're literally standing in front of you.

The magic moments were plentiful, memories were born in real time and both the spirit of Christmas and Jimmy Buffett's vibe made it all happy craziness. 

We were showered with gifts before we even boarded and marvelously surprised by Joey Finch and ended up doing most everything we love in Key West. 

It really was a perfect script for a Hallmark Movie with the family fun, drama and insanity that marks a good family gathering. 

It's something I never thought would happen in my life yet, damn the context or circumstances, a Christmas miracle occurred for me. 

It was dubbed "The Last Cruise" by some of the kids because the odds are heavily weighted in that direction. 

Sarah's reaction was to book another cruise for when Che gets out of school. 

"You need stuff to live for," she explains. 

I laugh, like Sarah laughed at God when she learned Abraham was going to get her pregnant, at her age!

When Sarah laughs, I end up laughing too. 

And it's just as preposterous that we'll actually cruise again but that's the New Year's wish!

And Here's to yours! 🥂

Fins Up this Christmas

 

"Sometimes living's a struggle, multiplied double but they love it too much for the party to end," sang Jimmy Buffett shortly before he died. 

I can definitely relate. 

Keeping the party going, especially all of the way to end, is a most difficult thing to pull off!

I like thinking that Jimmy did. 

My party's been a sputtering affair. 

Major surgeries and two-and-half       yrs of chemo took their toils on my body and it's harder to party when you can't stand up, are nauseated, focus is hard to maintain and energy is vertically nonexistent. 

So it came time to make a choice: Continue with even more aggressive treatments or quit and party.  

Our Cancer Specialist did not take the news well when we told him. 

"Will you come back and see me?" he asked. "Can I call you."

Breaking up is hard to do. 

To celebrate, Sarah decides we could use extra injections of love in the house, and as a marvelous destruction to cancer, we've been fostering puppies and, oh what a joy it's been!

But the party's never complete without the people you love the most, so in a spontaneous, miraculous, impulsive moment, Sarah makes invitations for the entire family to gather together for Christmas. 

That's never happened since Sarah and I married and threw our families into a blender. 

So this Christmas, all of the kids and grandkids, along with a sister-in-law, a nephew and his girlfriend, are joining Jimmy's holy ghost on the Margaritaville Cruise!

Everyone threw conventuality out of the window to make this happen. 

"Look at it this way," we explained to the kids, "if everything goes well, it's one Hell of a Christmas party and, if I happen to die, everybody's together anyway so burial at Sea will be a breeze."

No one could argue with the logic, or the economics, of putting an equal strain on all parts. 

It's going to be "Ho Ho Ho and a bottle of rum, Santa's run off to the Caribbean" with the whole family!

So my party's not over quite yet and, who knows, there just could be another Christmas miracle or two this year. 

Fins Up and Happy Holidays to all!

Falling Grace

 

At the Eastern Wharf Boat Parade, Che surprisingly asks if I'll have my picture taken with Santa and her?

"Of course," I answer, catching Sarah's eyes, and we both wonder where this is coming from?

So Sarah snaps our picture. 

Later, Che and I are holding hands, laughing as we walk towards the river, when I trip and we both face plant on a crowded sidewalk. 

In slow motion, I watch her watching me as we fall, still holding hands. 

Eyes the size of full moons, stare straight into mine as she immediately ask if I'm okay, as I'm asking her. 

My knee is bleeding. 

She helps me up and we return to our seats.

Sarah inspects me, grabs hold of my arm and doesn't let go for the rest of the evening. 

"Your days of walking alone are coming to an end Mr," Laurel quips, and I laugh at her prophesy. 

I'm embarrassed, cold and feeling extremely old.

Under the soft glow of the Christmas Tree lights, hours later when everyone's asleep, I'm reflecting on these things. 

It's hard to keep winning battles when the war's being lost. 

A rustle interrupts the silence and, out of the darkness and into the light, Che shuffles in with her blanket over her head. 

"What are you doing up?" I exclaim at 5:10 in the morning. 

"I want to be with you Da," she softly says, laying down in the chair beside me. 

And I am filled with tidings of great joy. 

Maybe even some peace too. 

For now anyway.

Because now's all we've got anyway.

A House Full of Puppy Love

 

Sarah decides we need more love in our house because, how else you gonna stay focused on the important things instead of risk a lapse into the depression that multiple cancers bring? 

So we're fostering puppies! 

So far we've cared for Ham & Pam, Ooogie-Boogie, and Firefly! 

Ooogie-Boogie and Pam are in the process of moving in with their new people. 

Ghost Malone arrives tonight for a sleepover. 

Crazy huh?

Still living with two stage 4 cancers and a slew of other internal issues while fostering multiple dogs with his family seems preposterous doesn't it?

"We're saving dogs cause we can't save you," Sarah says and we burst into laughter. 

This is all really Sarah's brilliant diversion to help us stay positive, focusing on helping and loving intensely the love that these dogs are bringing us. 

It's hard to complain about the aches and pains of dying when puppies are gleefully playing around your feet. 

Che's loving it and it really is a fantastic redirection of bad thoughts, feelings and emotions.

Our dog Lainey takes it all in stride, going about her business, paying no attention whatsoever to any of them.  She's secure with her place in the family. 

"You're going to keep them!" everyone says. "They're so cute! How can you not?"

Well I'm not in a position to make long term commitments, so we're sticking with the short term obligations because I'd end up disappointing the pups in the long run. 

These last few weeks have been a marvelous celebration of life and love, even when the news is bad. 

We don't have time to focus on the bad because there's so little time anyway. 

Actively loving hurting and discarded puppies, most saved off kill lists, infuse joyous laughter and more life in our house, just when we could use it the most. 

Just like my wife planned. 

Adopt These Puppies Before I Die!

 

"Most people have about 6 months and for you it's been 4-and-a-half years," Sarah explains and her words linger in a pregnant silence.

Then we burst into delightful laughter.

We delight in what we have and what we have is now!

Well, and two foster puppies who were saved in one of Hurricane Helene's many disasters.

Why in God's name would I, with as much cancer and having stopped treatment, be part of such a crazy and marvelous adventure?

The short answer is Sarah, who decided we needed more life in our house these days because of an over abundance of difficult days. 

It is a magnificent emotional distraction for us from the day to day traumas of growing cancers, and everything that means. 

And boy, are Ham and Pam two delightful pups we are going to find a home for while I still have time. 

At just 6 weeks of age, these pups play hard, throwing their mere 2-3 pounds of body weight around, making us laugh.

Although their breed is unknown, you can’t help but fall in love with these pups who bring glimmers of pure sweet joy. 

So help us give them the best life by adopting one, or sharing this post with others.

Sarah already has two more foster pups picked out to bring home and well, damn, I am determined to be around despite my cancers, to enjoy as many pups as I can.