Memorial: Our boy Oliver This is a memorial for a very young and tender Boxer boy named Oliver who died too young - he was maybe four years or so. Now he is gone.  >From the day of his arrival, he would tire easily, become furtive and go into empty rooms and compulsively paw lick and scratch until he was raw.  At first what we thought this was about the stress of being a rescue, then we thought allergies, a few months later it manifested into a tumor on his muzzle that turned out to be grade three mast cell cancer.  And after an epic struggle that included surgery and two rounds of chemo, he succumbed to this hideous pointless disgusting disease at 2pm, Wednesday January 14th 2004.  Once diagnosed, we used every medical avenue available, every trick and reasonable remedy, all the coaxing and cajoling and massaging and mushrooms and anything and everything, including massages, cancema and home made T-touch t shirts. We became Team Ollie! And when we had to stop chemo, we were determined to keep him operational - like an old jalopy - counting on will, feeding him home cooked meals, herbal supplements, using whatever information we could gleen, read, copy, paste and print out and a lot of prayers, too. We pepped him up through Thanksgiving, pressed for Christmas and New Years and we were ready to prop him up for my birthday at the end of January.  We would have kept going until he had so many tumors, he needed a cart to get them around - so long as he was willing, we were right there to grease those wheels. Oliver was the Gary Cooper of dogs, long and lean and laid back. He'd greet us in his own restrained wiggly style when we were separated even for a few minutes.  He had a spirit that shimmered and glowed. It took a while - he arrived depressed and a little crazy, but once he settled in we believe he believed in us and that he was home forever and he let us pamper and love and coddle him.  He had such a quirky character, strong and stoic, yet very tender and sensitive and expressive. The prednisone made him incredibly hungry so he took to raiding the little waste baskets for tissues and any wrappers or goodies and when he'd get caught with paper sticking to his muzzle, he'd be ashamed but still always on the hunt for his favorite paper products. Old habits don't die hard and it was happy days if someone left a toilet seat up - perfect Ollie height!  Usually he sat on the couch next to me, but if I happened to chastise him, he'd run over to daddy and quickly sit on top of him while staring at me with wide eyes and defiance too! He was such a baby!! And he LOVED to be called BAY BEEEeee!  Oliver talked. If he wasn't happy, he'd tell you.  He'd moan, wooo woo moo woo whoa woo and complain until he had his way or sigh loudly if he didn't. He also sighed if he was being scratched perfectly. He hated to be seperated from us even in the house. A couple of weeks ago, a new gas meter guy came by, so I sent Ollie and Petunia upstairs and put up the baby gate to keep them there. Ollie jumped down the steps and over the gate, in spite of having a tumor on his front paw the size of a plum. No stranger was going to be in his house with his mommy without him there!  If he needed to be let out early morning, afterwards he'd come upstairs and jump into bed and get under the covers and sleep curling on my calves at the foot of the bed. Eventually he'd stretch himself out over the entire bottom half of our king. But later, as his body had trouble generating warmth, he'd come up to the head of the bed and stick his head under the covers and walk down the warm lane between my husband and I and nestle between us with his little nubbin tail sticking out.  Oliver smelled like toasted something. His breath was regular dog, but his head and body and coat smelled like something baking..something warm and wonderful.  He was plump and glossy and silky - right up to the end he looked spectacular. Even after his surgery, which should have disfigured him, he was dazzling!  With his large expressive eyes, rich brown coat and striking markings, those long legs, his great big magestic cow head, he was a magnificent animal! He endured all his medical treatments stoically, although the surgery he had on his nose and muzzle to remove a large mast cell tumor was traumatic and nearly killed him. He let everyone clean and care for him at any time even though his stitches were abundant, painful and terribly swollen. When he came home from the hospital, he ate his yogurt and his watery food standing up because he couldn't breathe with his head down. He endured followup chemo, which was pretty rough on him. When he developed two new tumors during treatment, we made the decision on his behalf to give him high quality of life, all the while hoping for a miracle of sorts. Or at least remission. But only a few months later he declined and I felt new tumors around his mantle, and the tumor on his front paw grew huge and horrible and menacing.  Still, we hoped he'd pull it out of a hat. Our last family holiday get together came right after New Years and even though Oliver was seriously ill the day before, he rallied and had a ball. He was in the middle of everything, grinning and following the kids around, placing himself wherever there was action, almost buried in the midst of piles of wrapping paper, happy as a fool.  But then then, a week later one morning he had to twice go outside in the middle of the night and he wouldn't settle down when he came in. He kept trying to eat ice and snow and that made his vomiting more violent so we followed him around the yard whenever he went outside to toilet and this seemed to confuse him. That day when he wasn't pacing back and forth, he would frantically look for me, and seemed to be afraid to be alone even when I went into the shower, which was not his way. By the days end, his fear and decline drove the seriousness of the situation home to us - we had never seen him like this. He finally settled down in the evening but he didn't seem any better. Instead he lay beside me on the couch that evening with no energy or interest even as I stroked him. His spirit was clearly flagging and when it was time we all went upstairs for bed but later, he needed to get out in the middle of the night and stayed in the living room instead of coming upstairs and getting into bed with us.  By Wednesday morning, we knew. He had a tiny bit of breakfast, but vomited most of it along with any water he drank. I tried to get him up by tempting him with a few grains of risotto, which he ate from my fingers without lifting his head. He remained on the couch beside me quietly. My husband came home at lunchtime and when we took out Ollie's coat and leash, he got up and made ready to go out, but on that day he limped for the first time and collapsed in the back of the car. When we got to Tufts, Tony went to walk him but said Ollie seemed confused outside and didn't know what to do.  Then it was time and Tony and I did the impossible.  We held him in our arms with his head in my hands and we whispered to him as he went away from us so peacefully. I think the next days were the worst days of my life.  We loved Oliver so much. He came into his own in the short time he had with us and God or fate or destiny brought him right to our doorstep because had we done his adoption properly, had he and Petunia met beforehand we probably wouldn't have adopted him because temperment wise, they weren't a very good match.  I believe with all my heart that we were destined to be his as he was destined to be ours. We are grateful for every moment we had with him because he was absolutely spectacular, the bestest dog in the entire world that ever was. He loved us madly and blossomed in our family as he and Petunia found dog companionship and comfort in one another's company in spite of their differences. And in us he found his two biggest fans.  We are devastated and we mourn him deeply, but we are also so grateful to have had the good fortune and grace of living with him, loving him, comforting him and earning his trust and love. And make no bones about it, ours was a passionate love, a possessive love, love on a grand scale! Dogs aren't pikers when it comes to love!  Maybe it was his disease, his need for human companionship and his sense of his weaknesses that made him reveal so much of himself, and prompted us in turn to do the same, who knows. His presence created a unique chemistry for our family. And now there is a hole in our home and our hearts about a million miles wide that will never be filled. It is for our Oliver forever. I hope there's a heaven because then, God willing we will smell green grass and play in the dappled sun once more. Cynthia and Tony and Petunia Faloonia Cimino