This is a post I never thought I'd write. A few days ago, Sami had surgery, and we had to amputate a small part of his tail. He's okay - he's recovering well - but the road there was scary, confusing, and emotional, and I want to keep an honest record of it here.

It started with something that felt completely minor. About a year ago I noticed a tiny lump on the tip of Sami's tail. Small, not painful, and several vets told us the same thing: nothing to worry about, just keep an eye on it. So we did.

Then, two months ago, while we were traveling, the lump started bleeding. Every time Sami wagged his tail and hit it against a wall or the furniture, it would get inflamed and bleed again. It wasn't stopping. The vet did a cytology - a needle sample sent to the lab - and the result came back with a suspicion of carcinoma cells. Not confirmed cancer, but not ruled out either. Hearing that word connected to your dog is terrifying even with the word "suspicion" in front of it.

We were in Bucharest at the time, where Bobby and I are both from, and I was scared of choosing the wrong vet in a city where I didn't know anyone. We got lucky: we found one of the best veterinary oncologists in Europe, Dr. Diana Suare, a founding member of the Romanian Society of Veterinary Oncology. She walked us through everything calmly. The whole team kept referring to Sami as "the child" or "the baby," which somehow made everything easier.

Her recommendation was clear: the safest option for Sami's long-term health was to remove the lump by amputating the tip of the tail - about three vertebrae - so the tissue could go for a full biopsy and any bad cells would hopefully go with it. Nobody wants to hear the word amputation about their dog. But this was never about saving a tail. It was about keeping Sami safe.

The surgery went well. Recovery has its own rhythm: we know Sami is feeling better when he gets defiant and opinionated again. And there's been an unexpected side effect - he's cuddly. This dog, who normally rations his affection like a banker, crawls onto our chests and lets us hold him. We're soaking up every minute of it, even knowing why.

I shared the whole journey on Instagram, and the messages from all over the world have meant more than I can say. Sami is loved in places he'll never visit, and that's a strange and wonderful thing to know while you're sitting next to a small white dog in a recovery suit.

We'll share the biopsy results and how his tail looks once everything heals. If you want these updates from Sami's life as they happen, subscribe to Westie Vibes.