Dog Days of Summer

Here in New England, August has served up some glorious weather. Those sweltering days in July — June was no picnic, either — needed to be endured, first. If last week and weekend were basketball, we got nothing but net: swish.

Apparently the term “dog days of summer” refers specifically to the period between July 3rd and August 11th. For those of us with actual dogs, though, there’s no time limit, and no requirement on high degrees of heat, either. In fact, there might just as well be dog days of fall, winter, and spring.

Rocky, Every Day

Here is a current look at the senior canine citizen in this family, with a head going white and tall ears staying jet black. Distinguished at 14, isn’t he?

“Well, OK, sure he’s handsome, but what exactly will your point here be?” you might be saying.

Here goes: amidst the steady drumbeat of setbacks and losses, some of them devastating, that we experience…there are also the daily triumphs of those around us — human and animal — who keep on doing what they love to do, mostly undeterred by their own aging. I know you have at least a few examples in your own life right now. We’d all do well to appreciate this kind of quiet achievement, methinks.

This summer, I am choosing to be inspired by the daily valor of my Rocky.

Slowing Down, But Keeping On

I’ve had this book on the shelf for many months but something in me was reluctant to dive in, until recently. And I won’t read it all the way through, either; I’m still approaching the contents gingerly — not wanting to learn about all the medical conditions the vets describe, thank you very much. The last chapter, predictably, is called “End-of-Life Decisions.” We’ll get there, eventually. First, though, I’m appreciating the early sections which include tales of individual dogs who present particular issues, get treated for them, and continue to prosper. One cheerful sub-heading is WHAT HEALTHY AGING LOOKS LIKE.

All the evidence suggests that Rocky is right now demonstrating exactly that — healthy aging.

Here’s a short list of activities that he is still enjoying: walking down to our pond and tracking the frogs; investigating all kinds of scents (not moving on until he’s good and ready); lying in the garage on a hot day with a good vantage point on anyone pulling in the driveway; barking and wagging his tail when anyone does arrive; positioning himself right next to me when I stretch after a run, so I can stroke the end of his back while he sinks down to show how much he loves this; playing with stuffed toys in the evenings in the TV room; still wanting a tennis ball thrown when I’m out working in the garden — sometimes he puts it conveniently right into the wheelbarrow. Just the other evening, Rob and I took him down to the local public pond and he swam for sticks over and over again, as if he were a much younger dog.

No doubt about it — staying power is what he has. He’s doing what a “fermata” symbol in music tells us to do: holding on beyond the expected duration, letting the tone ring out.

Needing New Strategies

Certain things, like climbing stairs and getting in and out of the car, are definitely more difficult. He stopped going upstairs about a year ago (causing significant changes in our own sleeping habits), but he’s still managing with the three steps he must take to enter the house. We’ve discovered that the ones in the garage are steeper than the ones at the mudroom door, so we go that way now. Each time, I watch him face the prospect of the ascent, then turn around to build up some forward momentum for the actual oomph that he needs to complete the transition. It lifts me up, too, and I feel like clapping.

As for getting in and out of the car, using a turned-upside-down steel ice bucket as a footstool on the side door worked for the past year; now we’ll up our game with a ramp leading to the way back. We’ve been practicing with this one that our wonderful dog sitter lent us, and helped by some treats, he’s gotten the hang of it. Not exactly the red carpet leading to the Oscars, but trustworthy enough to get the job done.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

A repeated line in the Chorus of David Bowie’s classic song, “Changes,” from 1971 is “Turn and face the strange.” In a way, keeping going up that staircase towards older and older age is like turning and facing the strange, isn’t it? We don’t know how we’re going to feel, what we’ll still be able to do and what we’ll need to relinquish, what will seem most important and what will fade out. We just keep putting one foot, or paw, in front of the other, as much as we are able — climbing and following our instincts about what matters most, trying to get what we need.

Most of Rocky’s days are behind him, that is for sure; he joined our family when he was eight weeks old, and went through a major move a decade ago. He’s recovered from two different medical conditions that sent him to the vet hospital for five days each time, returning home a hero who could once again walk and then run.

There’s a whole lot I don’t know, a whole lot not in my control, but, allied with my husband (together we’ve cared for Rocky for almost half the years of our marriage) I’m going to try my best to provide ongoing good days ahead for this particular dog. After all, he’s been a kind of Rock to me.