I think I’m ready to turn in my adult card
Published 04-16-2020
One of the best parts of being in Tennessee has been watching our dogs interacting with nature in our backyard. Back home, the bane of Spock - our Doberman - was skateboarding teenagers. Vince and I joked he would be so bored at our house at the end of the road. Spock quickly found a new mortal enemy soon after our arrival, in the form of the gray squirrels that call our trees home.
Spock’s new patrol line became where the grass meets forest, barking from tree to tree, sounding a warning to critters near and far who was in charge.
Far from his existence back home, these last two years have been filled with treats in the kitchen, stealth naps on the bed, shared snacks with the boys, sunning on the patio and running in the snow. Pretty idyllic for a dog’s life.
Spock has been my constant companion in Tennessee, by my side as I cook, clean and go about my projects around the house. His preferred place is next to me, unless I’m vacuuming. He’s not the biggest fan.
What’s that they say about dog’s resembling their owners again?
Over the winter I noticed a big slow down, not unexpected when the dog is ten and winters are a little cooler than the more temperate California winters. Little signs of aging turned into bigger signs of larger problems. Some remedied more easier than others. But the mass that started growing on his rib cage wasn’t going to have the same kind of easy fix, or good outcome. The inevitable, sometime in the future, became a lot more sudden and real. And I knew that this would be our last winter with him.
If’s and wishes make zero difference. So I decided whatever time was left would be filled with spoiling. Extra treats, not so stealth naps on the bed and cuddles on the floor were in order. For as long as we could.
Well, that time has run out, and I’m now faced with having to say goodbye to my friend. And it never gets easier.
I doubt I will be so lucky to find another 125 lb. terror that can destroy a couch, figure out how to turn a deadbolt and never realize that he’s not a lapdog. I’m pretty positive that it will be hard to find another dog that is a fan of fireworks, joining us to watch every show while sprawled on the lawn next to me, perked ears every time there was a boom. I’m just lucky that we found each other, and I had ten amazing years of Doberman shenanigans to laugh about.
These are the days when it absolutely stinks to have to be an adult.