Something's Not Right With Whee-Zee

This short-haired scary-looking dog has been by my side since I was a small boy with no understanding of the world around me. This droopy-eared, one tooth protruding stubby-tailed creature who would do anything to protect me. My most trusted friend and companion who taught me more about love and loyalty than any person in my life so far.
My dog is sick, and my parents tell me it’s serious. They tell me boxers can have heart attacks just like people, so we’ll have to hope and pray that Whee-Zee will get better.
Wheez is older and grayer. Her energy isn’t always there, but she is always glad to be with me and my family. She was about two or three years old when Dad brought her home, so now in people years she’s older than my grandparents.
We don’t run together much anymore, but that’s OK, it’s comforting just to have her around. Every now and then she’s her old self, and we go for long walks, and she might even chase a stick or two.
There are these black pouch-like things growing on her legs, and my parents take Whee-Zee to the doctor to have them removed. Sometimes she can’t keep her food down when I feed her, and I feel so helpless watching her as she throws up after eating. I put my arms around her and I try not to cry.
I don’t know if it’s prayer or good luck or what, but Whee-Zee starts to feel better. She looks a lot older now, and she’s not as strong, but she’s alive. My parents warn me that she might not stay that way, but I don’t want to think about that. No, Whee-Zee is going to be OK, she’s just got to be.
Please girl. Please get better.
You’ve just got to..