On old dogs.
What a feeling when the dog at the other end of the leash you've been holding for the past 8 years begins to grow old.
What a privilege.
It's snuck up on me, but there is no denying it. She is becoming old. It's in the way she holds her once broken rear leg out at an odd angle. It's in the way she has a raspier pant on long walks. It's in the way she stares and weaves and stares some more when her failing vision lies to her on our evening walks, telling her the shadows are creatures to be wary of.
10 isn't so bad. 10 is not ancient in Greyhound years. 10 is quite respectable. After all, her mother died at the grand ole age of 15. But what do you feel when you know her sire died at 11? What do you feel when you know Greyhounds who needed to cross over at 9?
You feel blessed for each day you are graced by her presence.
Her body has always been so solid, so muscular, bursting with life and vigor. It seems to be a bit cumbersome now, her small stick legs slightly stumbling when she missteps. Her once-glorious muscles seeming to weigh her down.
She is not pathetic and feeble, oh no. She rambunctiously wrestles with the whippet, surprising me with how exuberant these matches are. I think she feels better after i broke down and started feeding her senior food. She doesn't pace as much at 2am. Her spirit is still bright and shines out of her mischievous face. She is still quintessentially Layla.
I'm thinking about these things on our evening walk, watching her as she pauses to sniff bushes enthusiastically.
Yes, she says, head shoved up to her eyes into someone's flowers. This is my favorite thing.
I'm thinking about these things as i sit on her bed. She shoves her silvered muzzle into my palm.
Yes, she says. Please rub my snoot. You know this is my favorite thing.
I'm thinking about these things as i stroke her face. Her eyes, hazey with the blue that old dogs seem to get, stare into mine. I gently massage her ear.
Yes, she says. Please rub my other ear. You know this is my favorite thing.
What a feeling, what a privilege to give a faithful old dog her favorite things.
