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When my dog ​​was diagnosed with cancer, I swore not to let him suffer. After 2 months, I kept my promise.

He had stopped dreaming. It wasn’t the first indicator that something was wrong, that was her loss of appetite. But after she was diagnosed with lymphoma, her legs did not shake and she no longer moaned while she slept.

I met Argos when he was 4 weeks old, at the breeder’s house in Litchfield. I had the trash pick, so the other five future britain owners waited for me to pick, to knock down the first domino. I chose Argos mainly for his appearance: he had more brown puppies than the others, almost all of them white.

All I ever wanted to be was a dog owner. My dad is allergic, so we never had a dog when we were kids. I was serious about becoming a dog mom. I read “The Art of Raising a Puppy,” took a dog breed selection test that asked preferences regarding size, activity level, trainability, and more, and I agreed 100 percent with a Brittany. I got Argos while I was between jobs and I could be home with him his first year of his life.

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