Tosca

She stumbles as she steps forward, and I remember …

         how she used to race ahead, pulling on her leash, as we walked through the neighborhood. 

We take a slow and deliberate walk around one single street block, and I remember …   

        back when we’d hike through wooded trails for hours at a time; her tail wagging with excitement as she’d sniff and explore every inch of the path.

Occasionally she’ll look at the (younger) neighbor dog with interest, and I remember …

         how she loved playing in a group at the dog park: tail wagging, exuberant barking, tongue hanging out – the thrill of the chase.

She’s fifteen years old – old for a dog.  She’s aged a lot during the past year: she’s virtually deaf and can’t see as well as she used to, her back legs lean in because of arthritis, she sleeps a lot more, and she’s on medication for chronic kidney disease. And last week she decided to leap off the back deck (a bit of dementia??), resulting in strained muscles and a pronounced limp, which means I now need to carry her down the deck when she goes outside.

It’s hard watching her age. I don’t like seeing all her limitations. It’s frustrating dealing with bathroom accidents and endless panting/pacing because of anxiety. At times I get angry and then feel guilty for being angry when she can’t help it.

I remember so many good times:

- camping trips, hiking at state parks, vacations to Pennsylvania and Florida and Michigan’s Upper Peninsula (her joy every time we stopped at a Rest Area!)

- visiting my classroom at school several times each year to meet my second graders. The kids would run with her outside, paint pictures of her, and write stories about her visit. She’d also come and keep me company whenever I spent time at school on Saturdays; I’d be working in the room and she’d be racing down the hallway. This was the first year she didn’t come to school.

- watching her devour play with the stuffed animals I’d buy her. She’d carry them around for a few days and then tear all the stuffing out and wait for a new one to arrive.

- she’d race and leap and prance around – I wish I had a video of her running.

- trying to teach her how to play fetch. I’d throw the tennis ball, she’d run after it, then she’d sit and look at it. (She never learned. Or, maybe she just liked the chase part.)

- such a “girly-dog” – She has a bandana for every month and season and would get so excited when I’d put a new one around her neck! 

She’s still a beautiful dog. Her eyes have lost some of their sparkle, her tail now only wags when she’s dreaming, and her face is speckled with grey. But the splotches of brown and black against her white fur, her perky ears, black freckles, and fluffy tail still remain an outward beauty.

And, inwardly, she has the same gentle and loving spirit that she had the day we first met at Chow Hound in Grand Rapids…

         when she leaned quietly against me as I sat on the floor for an hour, trying to decide whether she was the dog for me. She totally trusted me to take care of her. 

Ever since that day, she’s waited for me.  When we stayed with my parents and I left for a while, she’d wait at the door until I returned. When we visited the dog park, she’d play for several minutes and then suddenly look up, trying to find me and make sure I was still there. When she visited school, she’d play with the kids, but always kept me in sight.

She still trusts me to take care of her.  And I will, because I love her and made a commitment to her when I first brought her home fourteen years ago (tomorrow – Aug. 8).  And on the difficult days I’ll remember the good times. Because, even though it’s hard watching her struggle in her old age, I’m so thankful for her and the time we have together.