I just wanted to thank everybody who said kind things about the giant dogge. I can't possibly respond to every comment... but I have read every one, and appreciated them all.
Well, the verdict is in. No signs of tumors. He's got some cardiomyopathy, which we may be able to treat with drug therapy, and which will eventually kill him. But it's not a bad way to go, and there are no signs of congestive heart failure.
So we're sending the ultrasounds off to a veterinary cardiologist for a treatment plan, and essentially what happens now is we extend his life as long as we can and as long as the quality of it remains good, we spoil him rotten.
Ten years is old for a mastiff, and if we can get another six good months for him, I'll be very happy.
So I just figured out why my brain thinks Carnival is titled Carnival, and will accept no substitutes.
car·ni·val (kär'nə-vəl) n. : The period of merrymaking and feasting celebrated just before Lent. [Italian carnevale, from Old Italian carnelevare: carne, meat (from Latin caro, carn-) + levare, to remove (from Latin levare, to raise).] lit. "farewell to the flesh"
You know, my brain *could* let me in on its clever little puns before I have 40K of book written.
But then, where would be the fun?
In other news, I have determined that I am, in fact, deep in Middle Of The Book, and that's why I don't feel like working on this damned thing. But work on it I must. And really, I only have about 70K left to write.
Soonest begun, first ended.