Old dogs
I have just come back from a lap around the block with our friend Lottie the Pointer. Lottie is 14 and a half which is already a very good innings for her breed. She's an old dog.
She's feeling good. A couple of weeks ago she had surgery to remove a sore that would not heal on its own. Not only does she smell a lot better now and have a nice big Frankendoggy scar on her neck, she is on painkillers. That, and the cooler weather, make for a spritely hound. It takes her three minutes to get down the stairs instead of 15 and she's being a little pest.
Old dogs are especially lovely (even when being pests). For Lottie, always a fidget, it means a new era of deep sleep that takes several long seconds to wake up from. Our morning walk starts off jaunty but is soon a slow plod interspersed with filibustering tree sniffs. I am alert for signs that she is or isn't deaf (it's entirely possible she is just ignoring me).
On the weekend we visited friends who have a Husky, also 14. Juno moves her arthritic body like stop-motion animation. Mouth breathing and those icy blue eyes in a faraway stare. Stilted movement, always in the direction of the plate of cheese and bickies.
The other day we met the people who moved into one side of the new duplex around the corner. Their dog, Jupiter, is 15. He's one of those -oodles that looks like a piece of fried chicken. Now we know when he barks at us from the screen door it's probably just because he can't hear himself or see us properly.
Lottie is doing alright. Any walk would be an achievement for a dog her age and she is still having two every day. She remains an absolute nuisance. Time for a deep sleep now, right after the medicine that stops her pissing herself.
