…and why I prefer old dogs.
The other day one of the doggie people I follow on Twitter had this link to a story about old dogs… It made me cry, of course, so if you go and read it, have a hankie handy. I’ll wait for you to come back.
It got me thinking about my own situation with old dogs, and old men, since I took care of my ninety-something-year-old father for the past five-plus-something years and have also had an old dog or other at the same time. First there was Crazy Eddie, and now The Old Guy. The Old Guy is actually more like my dad in being really old but in relatively good health, so, inevitably, I came up with some comparisons.
1. If you help an old dog get up out of his bed or off the floor, he doesn’t get all huffy and offended.
2. If an old dog pees his bed, or anyplace else in the house, he doesn’t get all embarrassed.
3. If you have to wipe an old dog’s butt, he doesn’t get all huffy and offended and embarrassed.
4. It is not scary to see an old dog naked.
Old dogs may be aware that they can’t do all the things they used to be able to, but they don’t dwell, they don’t sit and feel sorry for themselves and blame everyone else for their sad state. The Old Guy knows he can’t catch the cat, or bunnies in the yard, but he still makes a short lunge-and-snap. Then he looks back at me with a twinkle in his eye like, “Hey, did you see that?” He doesn’t get all upset because he can no longer run the prey down. For him the victory now is that he can still make them run away.
Thanks for the link to the Old Dog story. First thing I’m doing to do when I get home today is hug MyYoda; he’ll be gone way too soon.