I don’t really have a list, at least not one written down. So that number is a ‘guesstimate.’
But this one I have to write down: I woke up this morning and my dog was in my bed, just casually lying there.
Gus, a small, slightly overweight, 15-year-old Golden Doodle (subset Psychodoodle), isn’t supposed to be able to scale the heights of our bed, at least since we got a new one recently.
Gus used to be a regular when we had a much lower bed.
We bought the new bed about three months ago and it’s a good 3-feet off the ground. And Gus, we have noticed is getting older and more unstable with his feet. Like me.
Gus recently was unable to jump up into the car to go to the beauty parlor where my wife, Catherine, tells Kimberly, the proprietor of Bark, Bath and Bubbles, to cut it close.
Now Kimberly is a professional and could gussy up Gus to look like Cinderella (or maybe Prince Charming) if she wasn’t under orders by Catherine to give it a crewcut. He looks like a large rodent now. Nothing wrong with the rodent look, it’s very popular in the hot summertime. And it’s a great conversation piece on daily walks.
“What kind is that?” asks the lady with a perfectly coiffed standard poodle while widening her distance on the sidewalk
“A Golden Rodent,” I would like to say, but refrain.
I am getting off track, however.
The fact is my 15 year-old dog (about 78 in dog years) was lying on my bed looking at me with those expressive eyes when I woke up this morning. About 6:30 a.m.
Gus? How did you get up here? I said it more with astonishment than anger. Gus has a sixth sense about oncoming storms and often runs around looking for a safe place. At this early in the morning I did not hear any thunder or see lightning though. It did look like we were in a turbulent weather pattern. (It later hailed).
My whole point here is that… that… well Gus is going to die. And I, who am 61, will likely succumb earlier than planned due to my Lewy body dementia.
Now dogs are smart but I don’t know what they think about mortality. Do they know they are going to die?
I was in the room the last two times the family dog died. The last one, Molly, a yellow Lab, was very sick and had to be euthanized. Just before she was injected, her eyes, before they fixed, seemed to say, ‘Where am I going?’
Gus and I are watching each other, I believe. Like his sixth sense with the weather, Gus will probably know the time. But until then Gus is going to enjoy what he still can.
Even before the bed jump, I noticed Gus was running around puppy- like, in recent days, playing with his rubber doggie bone and generally being frisky.
Maybe it’s because it is Spring, renewal (and pollen) in the air.
Well Gus inspired me. Catherine, Gus, and I went on one of the best and most strenuous walks I’ve been on in a while. Though drained, I felt stoked. I had more energy, all inspired by Gus.
I’m going to rub behind his ears —his favorite thing— a little extra tonight.
UPDATE NOTE: After Saturday’s 3 a.m. lightning and thunder shelling, guess who was back in bed with us, for the second night in a row.