Before I adopted her, while she was still a foster, a growth about the size of a quarter appeared on Roo's shoulder. Even though I was pretty sure by then that I’d be keeping her, that growth influenced my decision, because she’d already had more than her share of bad luck, and before the growth was removed there was no telling if it was something serious. I wasn't going to hand her off to someone else to deal with whatever might have been coming next. I had already been thinking of Roo as mine, anyway. Who was I kidding.
Roo went in the hospital in the morning, had the offending growth sliced off and sent to the lab, and was ready to be picked up in the afternoon. It was the first time in the six weeks we weren't together, and man-oh-man, was she glad to see me. The only serious thing about the growth was the vet bill for the surgery, which, if a quick mental calculation is correct, would have covered about three years of jerky (and we are talking about a dog who loves her some jerky). She was loopy from the anesthesia, which made her look all the cuter in the blue tank top she had to wear to protect the wound. The wound is that dark spot under the mesh, right under the ribbon.
Since then, Roo has become something more of an habituée of the veterinary world than one might hope.
Speaking of which, the Apoquel for her allergies is life-changing. She feels great. While I've been dying from a run of 100-degree-plus days, she's been running around like the mad dog she is.