Ode to a Geriatric Pup

When I took Freckles Warrior Princess & Lucy Bark of Poteidaia to a new groomer last week, I provided a written description about which dog is which--although the two dogs look nothing alike (well, at least not to me and the wife--they are two years apart and are not even the same breeds), other people can't tell them apart or at least get mixed up enough they can't figure it out.  Poor Freckles.  Her description, albeit true, was not a picture of beauty: "Freckles is the lumpier, smellier, crustier, older dog with the booger-filled blind left eye, can't hear a thing and has skin that crawls when you touch her."

Lucy's description just mentioned her horrific bad breath and inability to stand still.  She got the much better end of the deal.

The owner of the kennel provided an additional descriptor, noting that Freckles is "the dog with nine lives." 'Tis very true--this dog has most thankfully and almost unbelievably cheated death on more than one occasion.  I have the vet bills and pained memories to prove it.  We still talk about the Spring of 2011 like we had gone to battle.

The wife and I have been staring a lot at Freckles as of late.  She is old and lumpy and crusty and smelly.  Really smelly.  She doesn't hear the alarm in the morning nor does she notice when we turn on the light.  She just keeps snoring, enjoying her blissful sleeping state.  It's almost impossible to wake her up in the morning without scaring the shit out of her because she doesn't notice you approaching. She can't go down the stairs on her own and she can't go up the stairs on more occasions than not.  It takes us 25 minutes to go a half mile during our walk.  Sometimes, she just stares at the wall--we've decided she either (1) sees dead people; or, (2) has doggie dementia.  She gets up every night and demands to go out and pee.  (You bet your ass we get up and let her out--no need to have her peeing in the house and how can you deny a most appropriate request, no matter the time of night?)  Her back legs tremble when she's standing around. Freckles sleeps more than anything.  She is growing disgusting things on (and under) her skin and she has gained weight, most likely from a decrease in activity and an increased demand for treats.  She no longer makes it up onto the couch in one leap--often, she takes a running start but just ends up splatting into the side of the couch.

We accept her for what she is: an old lumpy, smelly, crusty, blind, deaf, balding stuffed sausage of a canine.

Yet, she is happy. Really happy.  They say that dogs don't have emotions, but this is one happy dog--much happier now than she ever was when younger.  You can tell she isn't in pain.  She still does tricks, she still tries to chase Lucy around, she still loves going for rides in the car or visiting her favorite people.  She remembers people and knows their names.  All I have to do is say (in a very loud voice, of course), "Grandma" or "Jackie" or "the girls" and the dog perks right up and runs to the door. Some days, she surprises us and goes down the stairs.  On other days, she hears the mail lady and gives her a loud greeting.  I swear there are days she is smiling.  I swear this dogs knows it's on its ninth life and she is going to enjoy every minute of it.

Here she is wearing a babushka.  I was bored on Monday, so I decided we should wear babushkas.  I'm not sure she was happy or smiling during the wearing of the babushkas but it sure was fun and it sure made me happy.  We're simple folk in the Addiverse.

When I get up in the morning, I peek over the side of the bed and take a gander at Freckles, trying to see if she is breathing or not.  It sounds morbid, but what else can I do? She honestly doesn't move from the light or the sound or the motion.  I wait and watch. Some days, I can't really tell.  I hate to scare her but I have to wake her up to go out for our daily walk.  I wait and hope, get out of bed, trying to stomp around a bit, but the snoring continues.  It's not until I actually touch her that I get a response--and, it's a startled response.  She just about jumps vertically out of her bed.

Right now she is sleeping, just as she was doing an hour ago...just like she will be doing an hour from now.  She often looks hilarious, as her tongue peeks out and her blind eye stays open and her hair gets all tangled. I can't help taking photos of her when she looks like that.  If she had any teeth, she'd probably bite me.

Knowing Freckles, she will live many more years. One never knows. I suppose you can survive as a smelly and lumpy animal for years on end. Yesterday, I thanked her for living long enough for me to get my money's worth out of her after her last brush with death.  When I pointed to the new living room furniture  last night and told her she cost more than that, she snorted on me.  Seriously.  She snorted all over my glasses. I think that was her way of saying, "thanks, bitch--I'm worth it."

Ode to a Geriatric Pup
Canine of Old
Lumpy
Smelly
Shaky and trembling
Eyes that do not see
Ears that do not hear
Yet, love that still shines for the master.
Faithful
True
Smart as a fifth grader.
Tricks and treats do not escape her.
Another day, another skin growth...
...What the hell is that?
Snoring
Scratching
Pacing
Let me out, dammit!
Clean my eye!
Is that poop stuck on my butt?
Canine of Old
Loving
Smiling
Caring.
I see dead people.
I see Lucy.
I see you.
Paws up, little canine!
Your loyalty fills me up.