I've posted before about the particular joy that old dogs bring to our lives (here and here). And there is the often-linked and -forwarded online book excerpt about old dogs that most of you have probably read by now.
With the beautiful, mild weather of the past few weeks (it was 78 F this afternoon and I'm still wearing shorts and Tshirts), I've been able to spend much more time outside with the dogs and we've rediscovered playing with tennis balls. Most of the year it's so hot that it borders on cruel to ask the dogs to work that hard just for play. When it is super humid, it's actually difficult to cool them down. So there is a narrow window when we can all be outside and enjoy it.
Here are some photos I took this afternoon of the dogs playing in the backyard of an empty house.
I've become more careful of Harry of late because it is clear that he's become a little more fragile. He's 14 and a half now. He's losing muscle mass over his shoulders and hips. He doesn't fling himself around like he used to but thinks about where he needs to land before he jumps off the couch. He is stiff and a bit weak in the rear when he gets up in the mornings. It is harder to wake him up most mornings as a result of his increasing deafness and the deep, deep sleep that old animals sometimes fall into. Most of the brown markings on his face have turned grey.
But Harry can still keep a steady pace for hour-long walks. He initiates toy play at least two and usually three times a day. (I have been known to turn off the stove and interrupt my dinner prep to play with him--who knows how many more times I can do that?) I am careful to throw his toys so that he always stays on the carpet and doesn't slide uncontrollably across the tiles. I roll rather than throw his ball so it won't bounce and he won't jump, putting stress on old joints. He can still jump onto the couch and the bed on his own, and he goes up and down the stairs although without the same flinging abandon that Mimi and Azza and HellBeast apply. As you can see from the photos in this post that he is just as dedicated to his tennis ball as he has always been.
Harry is not even close to becoming infirm. He's active, healthy, engaged, feisty. But I can see glimpses of frailty that make me sad.
I know that, even though Harry and I have had enough adventures to fill a book, when he stands there with a toy in his mouth, his tail twitching, giving me the eye, I know that he isn't thinking about the past or the future, only about this very moment with this chosen toy.
In the end, that's all that matters.
With the beautiful, mild weather of the past few weeks (it was 78 F this afternoon and I'm still wearing shorts and Tshirts), I've been able to spend much more time outside with the dogs and we've rediscovered playing with tennis balls. Most of the year it's so hot that it borders on cruel to ask the dogs to work that hard just for play. When it is super humid, it's actually difficult to cool them down. So there is a narrow window when we can all be outside and enjoy it.
Here are some photos I took this afternoon of the dogs playing in the backyard of an empty house.
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| The tennis ball game of course incorporates three tennis balls, one for each. Arranging the tosses so I could snap this photo took some practice. |
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| Taking a breather. Mimi, Harry, Azza. |
I've become more careful of Harry of late because it is clear that he's become a little more fragile. He's 14 and a half now. He's losing muscle mass over his shoulders and hips. He doesn't fling himself around like he used to but thinks about where he needs to land before he jumps off the couch. He is stiff and a bit weak in the rear when he gets up in the mornings. It is harder to wake him up most mornings as a result of his increasing deafness and the deep, deep sleep that old animals sometimes fall into. Most of the brown markings on his face have turned grey.
But Harry can still keep a steady pace for hour-long walks. He initiates toy play at least two and usually three times a day. (I have been known to turn off the stove and interrupt my dinner prep to play with him--who knows how many more times I can do that?) I am careful to throw his toys so that he always stays on the carpet and doesn't slide uncontrollably across the tiles. I roll rather than throw his ball so it won't bounce and he won't jump, putting stress on old joints. He can still jump onto the couch and the bed on his own, and he goes up and down the stairs although without the same flinging abandon that Mimi and Azza and HellBeast apply. As you can see from the photos in this post that he is just as dedicated to his tennis ball as he has always been.
 |
| C'mon, c'mon, throw it already! |
Harry is not even close to becoming infirm. He's active, healthy, engaged, feisty. But I can see glimpses of frailty that make me sad.
I know that, even though Harry and I have had enough adventures to fill a book, when he stands there with a toy in his mouth, his tail twitching, giving me the eye, I know that he isn't thinking about the past or the future, only about this very moment with this chosen toy.
In the end, that's all that matters.
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