In the Summer of 2021, when she was 9 years old, our Golden Retriever Willow developed a slight limp that would come and go. Occasionally, she would list hard to the right. A few times, she would seem to lose herself completely, walking in circles and spinning her legs. At first, a severe ear infection was considered the most likely culprit. When antibiotics didn’t help, old dog vestibular disease – whereby older dogs randomly lose their balance but recover quickly – was the next suspect. But, when Willow’s symptoms worsened, CT and MRI scans were performed. Willow had a brain tumor.

More specifically, the diagnosis was for a meningioma on her brain stem. Palliative care with steroids would give Willow about two months of remaining life. Or, we were given the option of radiation, which had its risks and its costs, but also the potential to add years to Willow’s life. We chose the latter. Willow received stereotactic radiation therapy in August of 2021. My wife Pam and I welcomed Willow home on the last day of her therapy, August 19th, 2021. Willow died on June 24th, 2024. That therapy — and a second bout of radiation in 2023 — bought us 1,040 days with our beloved dog.

You see, Willow was a special dog. I know, I know…says every dog owner about their pet. The best way that I can communicate Willow’s specialness is through video evidence. The below is a dance that I taught Willow more than a year after she had been treated for that tumor. The video shows a love of K-pop rare in any dog. But, it also shows her resilience, her intelligence, her love of working with me, and (perhaps most importantly) her desire for the piece of sausage in my right hand. Look, we all need motivation.

Say what you want, the girl could dance.

When Pam and I talk about Willow now, we often divide our time with her into three parts. The time before the tumor, the time in between her radiation treatments, and the time between her second treatment and her passing. I want to talk about those second two parts, because having that time at all was a miracle of our modern society (we are raising money for similar treatments here if you want to donate). But, I also want to talk about the first part of her life, because it highlights just why my wife and I were so willing to go to the mats fighting for our dear girl.

Willow Before

Understanding Willow is not too hard. Willow loved her people. She loved food. And, she loved to swim. I’m not sure I even want to know the ordering — let’s just say that she loved them all equally.

Love #1a: Us

Willow’s love of us came through in a myriad of ways, but two examples can do it. First, Willow was incredibly calming. If one of us was stressed, Willow would find them and either sit by them or sit on them. This trait persisted her whole life. In fact, when I found out her tumor was back the second time, I took a shower and just started to cry. Then, I heard a paw knock open the door, felt the rustling of the shower curtain, and saw two dog eyes staring at me. I didn’t have the heart to tell her what was wrong.

Willow was also a conflict negotiator. If my wife and I were ever in a disagreement, Willow would end it. She would invariably look back and forth at the two of us, trying to figure out what the hubbub was all about. Then, she would pick the one that she thought was right. Willow would saunter over to them, sit on their feet, and look at the other like: “what’s wrong with you.” Am I bitter that she picked my wife like 80 percent of the time? Not really, the dog had good sense. Well, she had good sense about marital spats. About food, honestly, she sort of lost her mind.

As in this photo, Willow picked Pam like 80 percent of the time.

Love #1b: Food

Willow loved to eat. I still remember the first time puppy Willow encountered a muffin wrapper. Having grown up with a dog, I said to my wife confidently: “she may chew it, but she won’t eat it.” She sucked it down like a vacuum. It was clear that we were dealing with another kind of dog here. We became familiar with Willow’s “I found street food” pose of low-to-the-ground determination, her ability to grab a piece of street pizza with incredible speed, and to get it down with two humans trying to pry her mouth open.

But, instead of telling stories, I’ll just list some of the illicit food items Willow stole:

  • The entire picnic of a family at a neighborhood park (they were very nice, and we replaced their dinner);
  • An entire Panera sandwich from my brother-in-law (he didn’t mind too much);
  • An apple pie at Thanksgiving (hey, it was a good pie);
  • Cocktail shrimp, also at Thanksgiving (we shouldn’t have left them there);
  • Pumpkin bread from a five-year old child visiting our house (don’t worry, he got another piece which he then ate hiding in a corner);
  • A Pumpkin Muffin from our car (when we thought she was too weak from treatment to do such a thing…not Willow); and
  • A cookie literally wrested from the hand of a two year old she was visiting (I’m sure it looked like he was handing it to her).

I’m sure I forgot some. Look, a picture is worth a thousand words — here she is with her head in a Cheerios Box bereft of actual Cheerios but full of Cheerio smell. She was a nut.

Willow had trouble getting out of this one without a little help.

The dog loved food. But, Willow’s love of food was rivaled by an activity that burned those calories: swimming.

Love #1c: Swimming

When Willow was a puppy, she was a bit afraid of the water. So, I went out into the Merrimac River north of Boston, and called her to come join me. She did join (see Willow Love 1a), swimming out to me and then trying to climb on top of me. From that point on, if there was water, she was either in it or pulling towards it.

Some of my happiest memories of Willow were watching her swim north of Boston in the Ipswich River at Bradley Palmer State park. When in the water, she didn’t so much swim as glide. Her coat was wonderfully buoyant and her feet webbed like a duck’s. When we would throw a ball or toy into the water, she would paddle after it at a leisurely pace, grab it, and turn back to shore. Because she knew that if she came on land it might mean an end to her swim, she would always drop the toy just off shore and let it drift in to us, lest we grab our wayward dog. I never said Willow was obedient.

Indeed, getting Willow out of the water always involved a bit of trickery. My wife and I would walk away as if we were leaving her. Because of Love #1a, she wouldn’t want us to get too far away. So, she would run after us. If she got close enough, we would lure her to us with a high-value treat, exploiting Love #1b, and snatch her. Humans 1. Willow 0. One time she tried to reverse our victory by going full dead weight. When a passer-by saw us carrying our dog like a sack of potatoes and loading her into our car, they asked if she was alright. I replied that aside from being a pain in the rear, she was just fine.

Willow lets the ball drift to shore, lest her humans capture her. She was no dummy.

The main point of all of this is that Willow was basically an embodiment of joy. The tumor never really stopped that, although it certainly changed it.

Willow In Between

As I indicated above, in August 2021 Willow underwent stereotactic radiation to treat her tumor. As far as I am concerned, that treatment produced a miracle. Going into it, our girl could hardly walk straight. Coming out of it, well, you saw the dance.

Willow’s First Radiation

When an ear infection and older dog vestibular disease were ruled out, the next step in diagnosing Willow was an MRI. Willow’s MRI was performed by the amazing neurologist Dr. R at the MSPCA Angell in Boston. Dr. R called us that day and told us the news — an inoperable tumor. But, Dr. R thought that the tumor was likely to respond to radiation if we had the means to try; the treatment cost $25,000. Very, very luckily, my wife had convinced me to buy health insurance for Willow in 2019 from a company called Trupanion. While we would have made the finances work no matter what, Trupanion was indispensable in making sure that Willow’s treatments didn’t ruin our financial lives.

Once diagnosed, Willow, Pam, and I were turned over from Dr. R to miracle worker Dr. J. Dr. J helped guide us through what Willow’s treatment would look like. Dr. J had determined that given the need to act fast, three days of stereotactic radiation was our best option. In this form of radiation, several radiation beams are aimed at the target. At their intersection point, the tumor’s tissue is destroyed, without harming the surrounding tissue. The treatment worked.

At this point in the story, a word of gratitude for these people. Dr. R and Dr. J, in addition to saving our dog, were also incredibly kind. Before her treatment, Dr. R wanted us to know Willow was doing OK, so he sent us a video of Willow on a walk with him and some aides. Because Willow was Willow, even with little balance and struggling with a tumor, she was pulling a poor aide around a little park as they all marveled at her determination. When Dr. J was told that Willow loved to steal food, she told us that when she brought Willow’s dinner, she would let Willow think that she was stealing it. What kindness these people showed us and Willow.

A Miracle Recovery

Within days of her return home, Willow had transformed from a dog who could not walk straight back into herself. One of my most vivid memories of this time is when I left Willow in our fenced in backyard for a few minutes, about a week after her treatment. While out there, Willow managed to drag herself up onto the third floor of our deck to “knock” on our upstairs neighbors back door and say “hi”. You can see below, the only real evidence of her treatment is her shaved legs and her rainbow bandana: it says “Cancer Champ.”

Willow climbed three flights two weeks after her treatment to say hi to our neighbor, one of her besties.

To facilitate Willow’s recovery, Pam, Willow, and I began a process of physical therapy with another marvelous person, Dr. S. We first got to know Dr. S when Willow was well — she was one of the few people that offered recreational swimming for dogs in the winter. Look, we didn’t want Willow missing out on Love #1c due to the cold! Dr. S helped us use Willow’s love of food to get Willow to do an array of exercises. As you can see below, Willow learned to do paw lifts, tunnels, hurdles, core exercises on a balance ball, and of course, dance.

By November 2021, thanks to a whole team of people, Willow was able to go on hikes with us again as if nothing had happened. While she couldn’t swim anymore due to some complications from the tumor, almost everything else was fair game. At our three month check-in with Dr. J, she said: “if I didn’t know Willow’s history, I wouldn’t ever guess she had a tumor.” The next year and a half were filled with too many wonderful memories to share in this short post. The few photos below will have to do, all of which happened after her first radiation treatment. But, unfortunately, that time didn’t last forever.

Willow after Treatment Two

In the Spring of 2023, we began to notice some disturbing issues. Willow was regurgitating her food somewhat frequently, had a tilting head, and was often not hungry. Pam and I took her into MSPCA where she was diagnosed with an Aspiration Pneumonia. That Pneumonia, the first of many we would have to deal with in the last year and a half of her life, was indirectly caused by the tumor. So, Dr. J again performed a miracle with radiation therapy, and we again welcomed Willow home. This time, the road would be much, much harder, but also filled with great memories.

The Challenges

After Willow’s second treatment, things were not so easy. The tumor caused an issue called “Mega-Esophagus” or “Mega-E”, that made it difficult for Willow to swallow. To make it easier, we had to feed Willow in something called a “Bailey Chair”, which we purchased from a wonderful company called “Bailey Chairs 4 Dogs“. The goal of the chair was to let her eat sitting up, and use gravity to help keep the food down. You can see a picture below.

While adorable, the Bailey Chair required us to feed Willow small meals five times a day. Each meal consisted of 30 or so meatballs made from wet food, and each meal took about 15 minutes to make. Then, she had to sit in the box for 30 minutes. Drinking water was especially difficult, so every other day we made a new tray of Jello to eat with her meals to provide hydration. Needless to say, it kept us busy and regimented with Willow’s feedings. It also made Love #1c a lot harder — we couldn’t really giver her treats anymore without immediately putting her in the chair. And, we really had to keep an eye out for street pizza!

An added challenge was nighttime. Willow had long ago wormed her way onto the foot of our bed, but the tumor made it impossible for her to get up on it. The floor was the only option, but someone needed to keep an ear on her, as she could still have regurgitation issues long after eating. Which is how Willow and I ended up camping out together on the floor for over a year! You can see one of our campouts below.

Nighttime was less than ideal, but we made it work. I think the cat is judging us.

After this treatment, Willow’s strength never fully returned either. Again, we did our best. We still visited Dr S. every other week, but more for moral support than any real hope of getting Willow’s strength back up. And, we still made absolute sure that Willow had a great time.

The Fun

My wife Pam is nothing if not a problem solver. So, when we realized that we weren’t getting full strength Willow back this time, she researched a dog stroller. This stroller was amazing. We could attach it to a bike and take Willow speeding about, or use it as a push stroller.

With the stroller in tow, we made sure to get Willow out every other day for what Pam called “Awe Walks.” For these walks, we would drive somewhere that Willow loved pre-treatment. Whether it was Boston College’s campus, the Fisher Hill Reservation, or just around the neighborhood, we made sure Willow could still see the sights and smell the smells that she loved.

On these walks, we still tried to let Willow be Willow. I would park the car, and Pam and Willow would go shooting off in some direction. I would piece together the stroller and go off to find them. Willow would invariably pull Pam for a few minutes towards some unseen goal before she tired out and laid down. Or, Pam and I might throw a tennis ball and “accidentally” drop it so Willow could steal it. She would happily grab it and lay down as we praised her good work. Then, Pam and I would marshal Willow into the stroller and keep going. You can see some of the action below. All of these photos were taken after Willow’s second treatment, when she was weaker, but still living it up.

We are able to keep this up through early June of 2024. But, eventually, our time ran out.

Grief and Gratitude

Throughout the time following Willow’s second treatment, Aspiration Pneumonia (AP) was a constant specter. Basically, if any food came up, it could get into her lungs and cause an infection. We got good at recognizing the signs of AP, as we had four bouts with the illness. Willow would get restless at night, be unable to sleep, and ultimately refuse food. It always developed quickly, probably because Willow was a tough cookie, and a good hider of illness.

Once again, MSPCA was our savior. During Willow’s first bout with AP, a kind doctor, Dr. D, got the unfortunate assignment of answering all of our questions. Due to his kindness and patience, we would use him as a resource throughout that year plus. (That poor guy got a lot of e-mails…he’s a saint!) Eventually, even the good people at MSPCA couldn’t fight off the end. Willow’s last pneumonia resulted in sepsis, and we had to make the difficult decision to end Willow’s fight.

Saying Goodbye

Saying goodbye to a pet is never easy, and we had got to fear it for a very long time. When the time came, there was no doubt. Dr. J — who like us I think had come to view Willow as the comeback kid — helped us make the call. There was no coming back. Willow had survived and thrived following two radiation treatments and three bouts with AP. But, this fourth bout was it.

When we arrived at MSPCA to say goodbye, Dr. J was there sitting with Willow, tears in her eyes. Her kindness towards us and Willow was shown through until the very end. She helped us to say goodbye, and then she put Willow to sleep. Dr. D also came by as soon as he heard. We all shared hugs and tears.

The grief that followed has been hard. On the one hand, Pam and I knew for a very long time that we were riding the knife’s edge. On the other hand, all of that care made us even closer to Willow. When you know you could lose someone at any time, you hang on all the harder. I miss her every day.

Trying to be Grateful

Sometimes, I feel angry about what happened to Willow. Our fight against the tumor was at times agonizing. We had to watch her weaken, losing the ability to swim, to eat normally, even to drink water. Many of the things she loved became impossible. Even though she had a reasonably long life, those years were drastically different and worse than they could have been. That ticks me off.

But, in the end, I have to try be grateful. Grateful for the technologies that exist that were used to save our dog. CT scans, MRIs, and stereotactic radiation are all technologies that didn’t exist just a few decades ago. I have to be grateful for the antibiotics, steroids, and anti-seizure medications that aided in her recovery from the tumors and the pneumonias. I try to remember the businesses that helped us, providing insurance and dog strollers and Bailey Chairs. Without all of these things, we would have said goodbye to Willow long ago.

Most importantly, I try to remember her doctors. Their kindness and care for Willow in the face of endless hours and countless questions is truly remarkable. Without them, her life would have been 1,040 days shorter, and our lives that much the emptier.

In a way, Willow’s treatment is a testament to what a modern economy has to offer when it works well. Technology, people, and businesses coming together to produce a small miracle. I think that’s the reason I care so much about inequality (what this blog is usually about). I want everyone to have access to those miracles. I know I’m so very glad that Pam, Willow, and I did.

Again, please click here to donate to a fundraiser for brain tumor research if you have the means.