Violets For Dusty - - Bill Schweizer

“That’s quite a friendly dog you’ve got there.” I had just been joined on my customary park bench by a young woman accompanied by a large black dog with eyes as dark as his coat. The dog was nuzzling my chest and sniffing my pockets.

“Not really. He’s usually not friendly at all. You’ve got cancer.”

“What the heck are you talking about? Cancer?”

She responded matter of factly.“That dog, he’s trained. We work at the Med Center. He can smell cancer, and he’s more accurate than a scan. So unless you have a roast beef sandwich in your shirt pocket or a bunch of violets, it’s cancer. Count yourself lucky. You’ve had a screening, and now you have to deal with it and right away.”
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