By Lisa Cohn

A few weeks ago, I had a nightmare about my dog, Hudson–who appears in our Bash and Lucy books as the most popular pup in the park.

I don’t even want to describe the nightmare. I don’t often remember my dreams, so this one stuck with me and worried me.

At his last vet visit, the doctor had asked me to check his testicles for lumps. Dogs above the age of 10 (Hudson is 10) who have not been neutered tend to develop cancer in their testicles. I checked them, and thought I felt a lump.

When I took him to our vet, she said he did indeed have some kind of tumor, and it was likely cancer.

I searched her face for some kind, any kind, of reassurance. With tears pouring down my cheeks, I told her he walks four to six miles a day with me. He’s always enthusiastic about going. outside, chasing tennis balls and gobbling up his food–raw food, which I give him to reduce inflammation and hot spots.

Didn’t that mean he was fine?

She gave me a stern look and didn’t respond. In her no-nonsense German accent, she said, “If it is contained in his testicles, we can remove them and he should be okay.”

But her look said, “Lisa. I can’t tell you what you want. to hear.”

When we started to leave the vet’s office, the technicians, as always, told Hudson they adored him.

At that moment, I vowed to love his cancer away. If he could tell me that he had cancer by warning me in my dreams, surely I could, by communicating my feelings to him, make his cancer go away.

I took him to a do-it-yourself dog grooming room at our pet store, washed him, brushed him and told him over and over that he’s a good boy, a pretty boy. “You can fight this,” I told him. “Please.”

Once home, we walked in Forest Park, his favorite place to chase his ball. He greeted other pups and attracted “he’s so beautiful” compliments from other hikers.

Then we got in bed and snuggled–another one of his favorite activities. I stroked him just the way he loves being petted, on his head, ears, chest and back.

Tomorrow, I take him to a surgeon for his pre-surgery appointment. I’ll learn more about his diagnosis and hopefully get an appointment for surgery as soon as possible.

In the meantime, I’m going to feed him apples, massage his chest and take snuggle breaks with him during my morning yoga. And over and over, I’ll ask him for a favor: Please let me love your cancer away.