Summary

The author reflects on the challenges and joys of caring for their aging Boxer, Milla, detailing the changes in her health and the adjustments made to ensure her well-being and happiness.

Abstract

The article is a personal narrative by the author about the evolving relationship with their senior dog, Milla, who is now facing the typical health issues of old age such as arthritis, seizures, and sensitivity to diet. The author recalls Milla's youth and the ease of training her, contrasting it with the present need to manage her health issues with supplements, CBD, and regular vet visits. Despite the challenges, the author has focused on creating meaningful experiences for Milla, fulfilling a bucket list that includes visiting the Pacific Ocean and hiking the Rocky Mountains. The author expresses a deep emotional bond with Milla, acknowledging the unconditional love, loyalty, and lessons on living in the moment that the dog has provided over the years. The narrative also touches on the author's contemplation of Milla's mortality and the potential need for another dog to keep Milla company as she ages.

Opinions

The author values the quality of life for their senior dog, emphasizing the importance of adapting care as Milla ages.
There is a strong emotional connection between the author and Milla, with the dog having a profound impact on the author's life.
The author is proactive in Milla's healthcare, using various treatments and preventive measures to maintain her health.
The author believes in creating enriching experiences for Milla, despite knowing that the dog's enjoyment might be secondary to their own need to make the most of their time together.
There is an underlying concern about Milla's future and the inevitability of her aging and eventual passing, which the author is trying to navigate with grace.
The author is considering the possibility that Milla might benefit from the companionship of another dog, indicating a willingness to expand their family to support Milla's well-being.

Taking care of my senior dog is harder now than when she was a puppy.

Coming to terms with my aging dog.

My good girl on New Year’s Eve 2021. Photo © Yia Vue.

Milla is my first dog. When I got her at 3 months old, I didn’t really think very much about when she’d become elderly. I don’t think anyone really thinks that the fuzzy little bundle in their arms would become a senior within the span of just a few years. It didn’t occur to me then how quickly 12 years would go by.

By all accounts, she was a great puppy. I’d vetted her breeders through the Boxer Club of America and the AKC. I did all my homework, asked all my questions, and brought home a bright-eyed and curious little bundle of puppy joy. From the very beginning, she was super easy to train and housebreak. The only major health concern for her was the occasional UTIs she got as a puppy from squatting to pee in the yard.

She was housebroken within a week thanks to her breeder’s diligent crate training. She walked like a dream on leash by 4 months thanks to consistent training. She was top in her class for obedience. By any measure, she was a dream come true for a first-time dog owner.

We spent those first few months figuring each other out. I was as new to pet ownership as she was to humans and the world. I’d catch her licking the side of the kitchen trash bin or thumping her nose at the random decorative vase in those curious puppy months. I’d read every book I could find about puppy growth and development to ensure I was doing right by her.

And now, I scan the internet for articles on arthritis, joint supplements, CBD, seizures, and “how to care for your senior dog.”

At some point — probably after she turned eight— her mortality started to be a shadow at the back of my mind. Boxers only averaged about ten years, give or take. It occurred to me that even if I didn’t want to, I had to start changing my plan of care for her.

We’d keep up our lifestyle for as long as she enjoyed it, but I also knew my girl’s heart and loyalty. No matter how tired she was, if I kept going, so would she. We were avid hikers and walkers, averaging four miles on our nightly walks and eight miles on our weekend hikes. I had to be mindful of whether or not I was tiring my dog out too much. I would notice that her recovery time would take longer as the years passed. After every hike, she’d sleep longer and longer the next day.

But it wasn’t just energy levels that started to change. In her 9th year, she had her very first seizure and I noticed that her left hind leg would tremble when we were standing still. She never whined or cried, but if we came to a stop, she’d take the time to lift her hind leg a bit and place her weight on the other three paws, or she’d find any chance she could to come lean against me.

She’s gone to the vet more in the last three years than she had in the first three years of her life. She’s had two major operations on fatty mammary lumps that kept coming back. At the last surgery, the vet opted for a full mastectomy, removing an entire chain of mammary glands to cut the risk of more lumps forming. In the recovery time, her once brown face turned mostly gray. It was the roughest month of her life.

Like all old things, she has the odd lump here and there now. Her face has grown weary but all that much more dear. Her stomach is more sensitive now as well, reducing her diet to a very strict list of items.

Still, I’d like to think that she’s doing pretty well.

She’ll be thirteen come this July. In the last few years, I’ve really focused our adventures on fulfilling a bucket list for her. I know it’s more for me than for her. She’d be equally as happy just hiking our old trails, but I wanted her to see the Pacific Ocean. I wanted her to hike the Rocky Mountains while she was still healthy enough to do it. I wanted her to have a full life.

Full breed dogs also run a higher risk of cancer, but I’m hoping that we’ll be able to dodge that bullet. I’m doing what I can to keep her healthy. Supplements for her joints, CBD for her seizures, dental chews, omega oils. I don’t want to fear what hasn’t happened yet, but I also believe in prevention.

On a secluded beach in Northern California. Photo by me.

She’s been my sidekick and wingman for over a decade now, traveling up and down the northeast. I’ve taken her from Maine to California and everywhere in between, but for all the adventures we’ve had, perhaps the most important one was of the heart. Through the years, she’s shown me what unconditional love is, what true loyalty is, and what living in the moment truly means. In moments when I’d lost myself, when I wanted to sink into the earth, she’s brought me back and anchored me to the now. And as she continues to gray and her days grow shorter, I can only wish for more time and hope that I’d given her the best life possible. That I was as good a friend to her as she has been to me.

As the years wear on, I am finding it harder and harder to leave her alone for long hours while I am away at work. I’m starting to question if just my company is enough or if she perhaps needs another four-legged friend. She had a Boston Terrier brother for a part of her life, but when my human relationship fell apart, he went with my ex and it was just me and her again. I sometimes feel like she needs more doggy company.

Maybe I’ll get another year with her, maybe another five. The only thing I know for certain is that the older we get, the faster time flies by. I want to hold each moment I have left with her still in my heart. I want to keep her from aging just a moment longer. The hardest part of these silver years is knowing that the years are numbered and needing to cherish each one we’re given. She’s long-lived past many of her breed now and I can only hope to defy odds and have many more in the future, but I also know what our odds are. It’s a difficult crossroads to find ourselves at, but one I hope we’re navigating with grace.

Still, with the added health concerns, the bad arthritic hip, the extra neediness, and the additional vet visits and increasingly more expensive tests and the worry that goes along with it, it’s really the realization that my time with her is growing shorter that has become the hardest thing of all to reconcile with.

Tonight, we’re lying in bed and she’s snuggled against my thigh, her body warm and heavy. She’s having a peaceful sleep as I work away in the glow of my laptop. The fur on her head is still puppy soft and she hardly twitches as I reach over to run my fingers over her brow. For tonight, only I am concerned about the ticking of time. I lean close to her and place a soft kiss on her head, and in my heart, I put up a small prayer.

Stay with me, my girl, stay young and healthy and vibrant just a bit longer. Don’t be so quick to grow old. Don’t be too quick to leave me behind.

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