We have four dogs. We had 3 dogs and a pup but my grandson, while visiting last week, noted that the pup was no longer a pup. She is a dog.
This short post is about my bestest and favoritest and oldest dog, the Duck. Duck is 12. My grandson is 11. He is visiting this weekend, at least until Sunday morning when we must return him.
Duck is getting old. In the morning, when the other dogs run out before breakfast, she waits. She has breakfast and then goes out. While the other dogs are running in and out all day long, she lolls. She watches TV, she hangs out with my husband, she lies next to my bed while I sleep. She goes out after dinner and then again just before bedtime. She is just getting old.
The Moose knows this. He is very aware that she is not the same dog she used to be - the dog who would run and fetch until she wore out the child; the dog who loved water so much that she would swim in a flooded loading dock; the dog who was always thisclose to the boy whenever he was available.
We went out to brunch this morning and then ran errands for long enough that it was too hot for yard work when we got home. Moose came in and put his stuff up and asked if he could play outside. I said he could and he headed for the door. As I was telling him not to be hurt if Duck didn't go, she ran, yes, RAN, to the door and waited for him to let her out. No way is she abdicating the wearing out of the child.
God, I love watching the two of them together.