Cancer Dog looked right at me, raised his leg, and peed on our bedspread. this was not poor-dog-couldn't-make-it-outside-in-time-pneumonia dog. this was a little dog, snatched from the jaws of death, who after two weeks of being hand-fed tidbits off my plate to entice him to eat, being carried outside, licking peanut-butter-disguised pills off my fingers, and hanging out without his collar decided that he is the alpha dog. machiavellian little poodle.
that was it. he slept on the floor that night.