Every weekday I reluctantly crawl out of bed to participate in the morning commute. And whether it's 5am or 8am, my dog gets up with me. Ears perked, head bobbing, her paws scraping at my heels, trying to will me to the front door for her morning walk. Although lately things have changed. My dog is getting old and it sucks.
The signs are small but significant. She's been grabbing extra shuteye in the morning while I get dressed. She's added an extensive stretching routine to her morning repertoire that resembles canine Tai Chi. Her usual leap has been reduced to a hop and her brown muzzle is morphing into a distinguished silver. She is 11 years old, so if she was a dog, she'd be 11 years old, which she is.
I would use the same term to describe her that Robin Wright used to describe her husband, Sean Penn, "a loving nightmare". There are differences though. My dog was smart enough to turn down the role of Glendon Wasey in "Shanghai Surprise" and never shook paws with Saddam Hussein. Besides that, "loving nightmare" is a solid fit between the two.
The nightmare: needy, clingy, neurotic, barks in her sleep, freaks out when my shoes squeak on the fake wood floor, and is unpredictable around other dogs.
The loving: never barks when she's awake, hates cats, miraculously survived Parvo, bladder of a dehydrated camel, snarf-o-matic hog-a-tron on our kitchen floor, and is great with our toddler son.
She's not flirting with death just yet but seeing the first signs of age made me miss her before she is even gone. It's a sad observation with a silver lining. She's sitting beside me now, catching some zzz's. I think I'll wake her up and we'll go for a walk.
