My eleven-year-old pup, Calliope – who will happily eat just about anything that can fit in her mouth – and I received some horrible news yesterday. Calliope has a golf ball sized tumor in her mouth, and this information is not going down well at all. She’s not in any discernable pain, but I’m heart broke. She’s half of the nightly two-dog clown-act at my house. I should have a couple weeks to a month to say goodbye to the silly, silly girl. If you want to get to heaven, just follow the paw prints.