Animal Anecdote

Glory Days: Savoring Time With an Aging Pet

Celebrating a well-lived life

At nearly 14 years old (that’s 90 to us), Chloe has earned the right to smile beatifically from her rug when we come home. She no longer gets up to greet us; we go to her to pet and love her. We are rewarded with a big Golden smile and vigorous tail taps. Her cloudy eyes gleam and she radiates happiness. But…she doesn’t move much. About once a day, we can get her to fetch a toy once or twice or to engage in a round of “Dog” — a game I don’t understand one bit, but that she seems to appreciate greatly. (I get on the floor, pound it a few times, and pretend to pant and growl. This generates no end of joy on her part, always ending with her rolling and kicking).

Her hearing is gone. Her breath could be used for chemical warfare. And she limps from arthritis.

Which is why it was so surprising when, last night, she nearly knocked me over — running full force down the hall with a toy in her mouth. She successfully baited me, and I joined her in the family room for a vigorous session of Dog like we haven’t had in years. She even reared up to box with me.

Those moments of energy and unrestrained joy reminded me of the day she jumped into the neighbor’s pool. A few days after the kids, Chloe, and I had moved into our house, she slipped away from us unnoticed as we gathered with some visitors in the front yard. Moments later, I became aware of a force of joy and mischief running at lightning speed toward me. Soaking wet. And with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on human or animal. Trailing behind was our new neighbor — also wet, from fishing her out. Not the ideal way to meet a new neighbor, who was, thankfully, very gracious. I tried to scold her, but how could I be mad at a creature who looked like she’d just fulfilled her life’s dream?

Moments of mischief have been rare. We call her the Angel Dog. She waits patiently until we’re done eating before coming into the dining area to scout for crumbs. She answers “yes” to questions by shaking her head and flapping her ears. Back when we took daily walks to the school yard, she ran all around the fields but would return to my side immediately with just one clap. She hasn’t needed a leash since she was five. Heck, the dog pees on command.

She has been a source of comfort and joy, knowing when to come sit close to console at times of sadness or pain, delivering soulful looks of empathy. Those moments were gifts during the darkest days of a painful marriage. From the day she walked into our lives, she has displayed manners, dignity, and humor — qualities that are sometimes more natural to dogs than people.

The tumor on her underside is growing. I actively work to ignore it and avoid rubbing her belly so my fingers don’t graze it. It’s bumpy, and I don’t want to feel it. I don’t want to know it’s there. The vet says bumpy usually means it’s cancerous. Out of respect for her age and newfound fear at the vet office, we have chosen not to pursue diagnosis or treatment. It would all be too hard on her.

So we watch her closely, love her dearly, and wait for her to let us know it’s time. We savor the gentle moments. The comfort of her sleepy snorts. And we revel in her moments of playfulness.

This morning, as I reminded Chloe that helping me take the garbage out to the street is her only job, she tapped her tail and pulled herself up. Instead of trotting the length of the driveway with me for every load as she used to, she now stands just outside the garage — wagging, smiling, and lifting her snout to breathe in the fresh air. I hope she is remembering all the nights when we rough-housed in the driveway after I carted the trash out (with her close supervision). Or the many times she chased a tennis ball across the front yard. Or maybe even the Great Squirrel-Hunter episodes (she put up a good front, but never really wanted to catch one; you could see her slow down when she got close).

Her day is coming, and we will all be devastated. Just thinking about it can make me sob. So, instead, we’ll focus on the here and now. The sweet welcoming face, the silly gestures, the occasional offended look, and the spontaneous outbursts of puppyhood.

Let us all hope for such grace and joy.

© Tina L. Smith, 2020