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Kylee (chow) turned 16 on Saturday. It's so hard to believe that we've been together so long. She was a rescue at the vet clinic I worked at back in 1991. She's been an amazing companion. I have her story online - it's at http://www.kippsdogs.com/kystory.html (written for her 12th birthday). And then on her 14th birthday, I wrote more: http://www.peninsulayardsale.com/dogs/kylee14.html . I was going to write up another one for her 16th birthday, but it's really all been said already. And instead, I used one of my writing assignments (a non-fiction creative writing class) to do a piece on watching your dog grow old. It's deliberately written in the second person ("you" instead of "I").
It’s a sad day, that day you realize your dog is old. It seems like mere months ago that she was moving freely and effortlessly, and today you see the stiffness in her gait. Her legs no longer move in a predictable pattern. They’ve now each become a separate entity and her stride falters as she struggles to bring continuity to their movement.
It hit you hard the day you saw her in the yard, lost and confused, unable to find her way to the door. She just stood there, looking around, and you called to her. She could hear you but not find you and you swallowed back the tears as you went to her. “C’mon, sweetie†you said, your voice light and happy. She responded with a look of relief as you touched her shoulder and she finally focused on you. You kept your voice cheerful as you led her back to the house, for her sake, but inside you felt nauseous with sadness.
In the back of your mind you knew that the years had been taking their toll. You could see it in her eyes first, a slight sheen of blue-gray barely visible in the depths. Instead of acknowledging it, you stroked your hand up over her forehead, a loving caress that closed her eyes. It was easier to concentrate on the warmth of her fur, the softness of her ears, the cold dampness of her dark nose than to think of her age. The sensation of warm/soft/cold beneath your fingers was identical to the day she’d entered your life. She was still the puppy that charmed you so fully with her playful posturing and sheer joy in the simple things. A smile touched your lips as you remembered her first reaction to snow and how she would look up at you with her face all white. You could swear she was laughing and it always made you laugh too.
It was with full consent that you allowed her into your heart. The thought of her growing old was not important then. You shopped for dog toys with her tucked under your arm, cheerfully encouraging people to pet her and feeling a quiet pride that so many thought she was adorable. Her first collar was tiny and you kept it for years to remind you of what a little thing she once was. She grew out of it so quickly that it surprised you – what a monster she had become! Once a cute mischievous puppy, she was now an impish adolescent. You replaced the things she damaged and hoped no one noticed before you did. The training book that you left on the floor soon sported tattered edges where the young teething dog had found some solace. It seemed appropriate somehow and instead of getting angry you just laughed.
She was your strength when life hurt you. On a day when it seemed no one else cared, she was there with wagging tail and adoring eyes, telling you that you were important. How often you fell asleep with your fingers in her fur! She brought you a peace with her unconditional love. You could only hope that you deserved it.
There was that day she took off after a rabbit and you searched for her through the woods. She was gone way too long. Thoughts of what might happen crept into your mind even as you fought to stay positive. It wasn’t until you gave into those fears and sat weeping in the dark on the front step that you heard a noise in the bushes and out she trotted, weary but proud and confused at your reaction. As you hugged her tightly, she squirmed to lick your tears away as if to say “but there was no reason to worry! I was fine. It was a marvelous adventure!â€.
You wanted to strangle her at that point because you loved her so much.
Throughout the years you refused to acknowledge the possibility of age, but you gradually made changes. Glucosamine and chondroitin for her joints was added to her nightly food – just as a precaution, of course. When you noticed that she had a bit of trouble making it into the car on her own, you started lifting her – not that she needed it, but it made you feel good to help. Your walks became shorter and slower through the years – it allowed more time to enjoy the scenery. There were always valid reasons. Always.
Today you can recognize and acknowledge her age, because you no longer have the option to do otherwise. The slight sheen has grown to a thick blue-gray in her eyes, and her chin is white. When she lies down it’s a slow movement with joints stiff and achy. A bottle on the shelf is pain medications, just for her, just in case, and you find that you give them more often than you’d like. It’s important that she be comfortable, you tell yourself. It’s your responsibility. You accepted that when you brought home the tiny puppy so many years ago.
As her birthday approaches you view it with both amazement and dread. Who would have thought that you’d have these years together? You look back over your life and you realize how much she’s taught you – patience, consistency, humility, the glory of success and the ability to laugh without restraint. You know how much you owe her and that when the time comes, you will give her the gift of letting her go, of being without pain and confusion.
It’s your proof of your unconditional love.
Melanie and the gang in Alaska
.. loving her so much, my sweet little Kylee Cub
They Grow Old
It’s a sad day, that day you realize your dog is old. It seems like mere months ago that she was moving freely and effortlessly, and today you see the stiffness in her gait. Her legs no longer move in a predictable pattern. They’ve now each become a separate entity and her stride falters as she struggles to bring continuity to their movement.
It hit you hard the day you saw her in the yard, lost and confused, unable to find her way to the door. She just stood there, looking around, and you called to her. She could hear you but not find you and you swallowed back the tears as you went to her. “C’mon, sweetie†you said, your voice light and happy. She responded with a look of relief as you touched her shoulder and she finally focused on you. You kept your voice cheerful as you led her back to the house, for her sake, but inside you felt nauseous with sadness.
In the back of your mind you knew that the years had been taking their toll. You could see it in her eyes first, a slight sheen of blue-gray barely visible in the depths. Instead of acknowledging it, you stroked your hand up over her forehead, a loving caress that closed her eyes. It was easier to concentrate on the warmth of her fur, the softness of her ears, the cold dampness of her dark nose than to think of her age. The sensation of warm/soft/cold beneath your fingers was identical to the day she’d entered your life. She was still the puppy that charmed you so fully with her playful posturing and sheer joy in the simple things. A smile touched your lips as you remembered her first reaction to snow and how she would look up at you with her face all white. You could swear she was laughing and it always made you laugh too.
It was with full consent that you allowed her into your heart. The thought of her growing old was not important then. You shopped for dog toys with her tucked under your arm, cheerfully encouraging people to pet her and feeling a quiet pride that so many thought she was adorable. Her first collar was tiny and you kept it for years to remind you of what a little thing she once was. She grew out of it so quickly that it surprised you – what a monster she had become! Once a cute mischievous puppy, she was now an impish adolescent. You replaced the things she damaged and hoped no one noticed before you did. The training book that you left on the floor soon sported tattered edges where the young teething dog had found some solace. It seemed appropriate somehow and instead of getting angry you just laughed.
She was your strength when life hurt you. On a day when it seemed no one else cared, she was there with wagging tail and adoring eyes, telling you that you were important. How often you fell asleep with your fingers in her fur! She brought you a peace with her unconditional love. You could only hope that you deserved it.
There was that day she took off after a rabbit and you searched for her through the woods. She was gone way too long. Thoughts of what might happen crept into your mind even as you fought to stay positive. It wasn’t until you gave into those fears and sat weeping in the dark on the front step that you heard a noise in the bushes and out she trotted, weary but proud and confused at your reaction. As you hugged her tightly, she squirmed to lick your tears away as if to say “but there was no reason to worry! I was fine. It was a marvelous adventure!â€.
You wanted to strangle her at that point because you loved her so much.
Throughout the years you refused to acknowledge the possibility of age, but you gradually made changes. Glucosamine and chondroitin for her joints was added to her nightly food – just as a precaution, of course. When you noticed that she had a bit of trouble making it into the car on her own, you started lifting her – not that she needed it, but it made you feel good to help. Your walks became shorter and slower through the years – it allowed more time to enjoy the scenery. There were always valid reasons. Always.
Today you can recognize and acknowledge her age, because you no longer have the option to do otherwise. The slight sheen has grown to a thick blue-gray in her eyes, and her chin is white. When she lies down it’s a slow movement with joints stiff and achy. A bottle on the shelf is pain medications, just for her, just in case, and you find that you give them more often than you’d like. It’s important that she be comfortable, you tell yourself. It’s your responsibility. You accepted that when you brought home the tiny puppy so many years ago.
As her birthday approaches you view it with both amazement and dread. Who would have thought that you’d have these years together? You look back over your life and you realize how much she’s taught you – patience, consistency, humility, the glory of success and the ability to laugh without restraint. You know how much you owe her and that when the time comes, you will give her the gift of letting her go, of being without pain and confusion.
It’s your proof of your unconditional love.
Melanie and the gang in Alaska
.. loving her so much, my sweet little Kylee Cub
