When I found out he was sick, I was devastated. I wasn't quite sure what was happening at first. He began to loose weight, his appetite evaporated, he would have horrific bouts of explosive diarrhea which would cover everything from the cat to the ceiling fans. He even stopped barking at my pot dealer, Todd, which was completely out of character for him.
The Vet said these were common side effects of cancer, and I should expect things to get worse as the days ticked by. He suggested I think about putting Edgar Allan Poop, on chemotherapy treatments, which would only have a slight chance of helping, considering how advanced his illness was. He also pointed out that theses treatments, once complete, could run me anywhere from 8000 to 11,000 dollars.
Now, I love Edgar, as I said, but to be honest, I don't think I love him 11,000 dollars worth. That's a lot of money which I don't have, and even if I did, I'm far too selfish to spend it on anyone but myself.
So, I had committed myself to the realization that Edgar Allan Poop was not long for this world. I went about insuring his last days would be ones of joy and comfort. I fed him T-bone steaks and marinated pork chops, every day. He had the best toys, the softest bed, and the nicest leash.
But I didn't stop there, when he would loose control of his bowels and defecate all over my throw rug, I too would poop on the floor as a way of alleviating his embarrassment and shame. When he vomited on my sisters baby, I also let loose all over little Stanley, in a show of solidarity for Edgar's condition.
This went on for several weeks, before Todd showed up one dreary afternoon to bring me a new batch of cannabis. He took one look at Edgar Allan Poop, lying in his own vomit and whimpering, and immediately knew something was wrong. I explained the situation and related to him my heartbreak, which he listen to intently before making a suggestion.
He told me how his grandmother's gecko had lost it's eyelids in a grease fire, and how she would rub hemp oil on it's eyeballs every night before bed. He spoke of the way the eyelids actually began to grow back the moment she began this process. Todd could easily acquire hemp oil for me, and felt that since poor Edgar was beyond standard medical treatment, I should try using the oil in an attempt to reverse the cancer plaguing his system, and help put an end his pain, suffering, and uncontrollable loss of bodily fluids.
I liked this idea for many reasons, not the least of which was the money I would save on carpet cleaner rentals. But I had never seen any evidence showing that hemp oil could cure cancer. I knew it was good for pain and nausea, but suggesting it could reverse an advanced form of cancer seemed silly to me, then again, wearing pants in public also seems silly to me, so what the hell do I know. So I gave Todd a few bucks and off he went to get me some oil.
Once I had it, I would smear it on Edgar's treats, or place some in my vaporizer and blow billowing clouds of vapor into his wet nostrils. This would be done first thing in the morning, and just before bed.
After a week of no discernible results I began to feel the sting of helplessness once more. And then, without warning, Edgar Allan Poop did what he's always done best....he took a long, solid dump on my couch.
Most pet owners would be upset by this doggie faux pas, but not I. The sight of dog shit I could pick up with a pair of tongs instead of a wet-vac, thrilled me beyond words. I immediately doubled his dosage, and did the same for myself (just in case).
Over the next few weeks, Edgar slowly began to show more and more signs of his old self. Each time he got a snout full of vapor, or a mouth full of oil, his spirits would rise, and a spring in his step would follow. I watched him run, fetch, and dig just like he did the day I stole him, which filled me with hope.
I began to believe his doggie cancer had vanished like my brother near a positive pregnancy test. I couldn't wait to take Edgar back to the Vet so I could shove him in that doctors face and say, "See what I did? I cured cancer with the same stuff Michael Phelps uses to win gold medals."
I called the Vet and told him to get ready for one hell of a surprise, then put Edgar's blankie in the back seat of the car, and called him out to the driveway. Edgar Allan Poop came running out from behind the house with a smile on his snout and a spring in his trot.
And then, a black cat (which I believe was Satan in disguise) came running across the lawn, catching Edgar Allan Poop's attention. He quickly changed course, perusing that evil tabby into the street where he was (ironically) run over by a young girl looking at pictures of puppies on her phone. He died right there in my arms.
I never did find out definitively if the hemp oil had mitigated his cancer, nor did I really care. It had made the last few weeks of his life, not only bearable, but down right happy, and that made me happy.
I still haven't seen any evidence that weed, in any form, will cure cancer. People have all sorts of stories about a friend of a friend of an enemy, who had a cancerous growth on their rectum, which was cured by smearing hemp oil all over it. The internet is full of testimonials by red eyed hippies claiming it will fix everything from acne to Mad cow disease, but the only studies they can ever sight are sketchy, to say the least.
I don't know if it does what they say it can do, but I do know that it made Edgar Allan Poop's last weeks on earth, joyful and pain free, and if that was all it was capable of doing, then I'm all for it.