Things are not as they were. She is no longer tolerant of being physically manipulated. Little wonder, given her age. Perhaps it's a dignity thing. She will, however, allow herself to be lifted and carried on occasion, even hugged and held close. And she is so accustomed to being carried in an over-the-shoulder bag whenever her humans take her to indoor places that she remains comfortable with that routine.
Her human who always grooms her finds it next to impossible now to turn her over onto her back to enable the careful trimming of footpads and muzzle, stomach and legs. It was always the most convenient way. Her hair grew so quickly, it needed constant trimming. Her large expressive and beautiful eyes could disappear behind the luxuriantly healthy growth of her hair. She still submits contentedly to her daily evening brushing, and looks forward to the massage that follows. But turn her on her back?
Now, it takes the considerable concentrated effort of her two humans to coax her to submit briefly to that kind of indignity. With her beard nicely trimmed, her eyes released, her lips revealed, and the puffy hair between her pads removed she looks so much neater, so much more like herself, and it's easier to maintain her hygiene.
She feels otherwise. And struggles unceasingly to free herself from the constraint of human arms holding her in place. No longer as calm and complacent as she used to be.
She was the last of her litter to be adopted by humans looking for companions. Her physical appearance betrayed a lack of symmetry, so perhaps that was the reason. Her coat was not as black as it should be, and the grey patches under her chin, her back end and the joints of her four legs detracted from her attractiveness, as did the awkward length of her legs.
But her eyes would melt the heart of a monster; dark, liquid and appealing.
She had the energy and acrobatic litheness of a champion, fleet as the wind and sure of foot. She outran every dog she ever challenged, and there were plenty of them, from miniature poodles like her, to German shepherds or short-haired pointers. Swift and determined she would leave them panting in her wake. And she loved water, would dive time and again to unerringly retrieve a stone she had scented.
When she was drenched she looked pathetically frail. Belying the fact that at such times she became a whirlwind of excitable energy, dashing about everywhere, fleet-footed and passionate about moving herself through the landscape. Her humans tried to coax her to eat more, to gain some weight, but to no avail. They feared lest one of those fragile legs be trapped under a root, against a rock and break, in her febrile dashes.
She sat quietly in a canoe, and watched the water swirl behind the paddles, eager to see the vessel beached so she could embark on parting the waters with her own body and the energy she brought to the task, a perfect swimming machine. She learned to unerringly read the messages in her humans' spoken vocabulary, in their body language and the clothing they wore, alerting her to perfect communication.
Now, closing in on sixteen dog-years, she has seemed to have forgotten her passion for her tennis balls, and her humans regret the passing obsession. She regards her balls now only on occasion as the treasured objects of possessive action they used to be. Now and again she will locate one of her balls and carry it about, then forget where she had left it, so unlike her previous self.
Occasionally something seems to remind her of her most current ball's absence and she will look everywhere for it, not recalling where she'd left it. Her searches will inevitably enlist the help of her humans, when she will trustingly sit back, ears anxiously at the alert, eyes fixed to the humans' activities looking deep under beds and furniture.
Where once she slept at the foot of their bed, she no longer does, preferring the loveseat opposite, in the bedroom.
Her hearing is now impaired, so that voiced reassurances when she is upset about having her hair trimmed have no effect. She lunges forward, on her back, attempting to put herself upright. She struggles, pants, and whimpers in distress until her humans set her upright, then struggle in that position to trim her, although it's never nearly as successful as formerly, when she biddably permitted herself to be upturned.
Brushing her teeth is no longer done as regularly; twice a week will do, now. Another routine she would prefer to dispense with. As with the trimming of her nails, particularly the dew-claw nails. It's almost as though this must be accomplished by stealth. One human holds her closely, freeing each leg in turn, while the other does the clipping, carefully.
She is now equipped with a padded halter when jaunts in the woods are undertaken, as they are daily, since the family lives beside an extensive wooded ravine. In the ravine, she trots about unleashed, but submits to the leash when she moves impatiently before her humans. They too are of an advanced, albeit human age and fit physically but incapable of matching her pace, hence the padded halter.
She no longer spurts after the squirrels they come across, although she is more than capable of doing so. There is an initial, involuntary reaction, an almost-leap, which subsides and she trots sedately along. Sniffing the ground, shrubs or anywhere other dogs have left their scent remains a vital mode of social awareness. A wariness of bees remains intact, due to an unfortunate incident when she was young.
On occasion she will spontaneously leap forward and outdistance her humans' sightlines, to rush about with glad abandon, celebrating a beautiful day, her green surroundings, and doubtless, her current state of physical fitness. She has always been a fit little animal, capable of energizing herself to the extent of achieving notable mountain ascents and descents.
One of her owners painted a large picture of her as a young animal, on the shore of a lake in Algonquin Park, where she was taken occasionally for camping trips. There are countless photographs of her atop mountains, for she has clambered up many of the mountains in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Those days are long past, but she is still capable of ascending and descending modest heights requiring 4-hour circuits.
Apart from the time she was neutered, she has never really encountered deleterious health problems. When she was almost fifteen there was an occurrence when a mysterious event appeared to have occurred, freezing her in motion, and utterly draining her of energy. Recovery took months, during which time she appeared to forget routine, toilet manners and even at times who she was.
Returned to normalcy, she resumed being who she was.
Her eyes have become clouded, no longer clear. The veterinarian who looks after her assures her sight is minimally impaired, and it's clear she does retain her sight to a good degree. Her appetite has much improved, although she gains no weight at all, and remains lean and slim. She is more vocally demanding than ever she was, not countenancing her humans' propensity to want to sleep in of a morning.
It offends her sense of propriety to see them slothfully remaining abed when the house is suffused with sunlight. Not that she wants to be fed, merely that she feels the day should be adequately greeted. She has lost none of her verve, her keen appreciation of life, and she insists that her humans do likewise. She has little thought for the future; they prefer not to dwell on a future without her.
c. 2009 Rita Rosenfeld
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