Our old dog Mia turned 15 in August. She’s had an amazingly healthy life. There was a little kidney issue a few years ago that was addressed with some fluids and a change in diet. She has gnawed her leg occasionally and has spent time in a cone. She started out life as a dark brown dog with a little star of white on her chest – for the longest time the only way we knew she was aging was by how white she was getting.
She was a 20-mile dog back in the day, able to run 20 miles non-stop in the Pasadena Arroyo. When she shifted into top gear, there were very few animals that could keep up with her. She could jump a six foot fence with little effort.
I met her when she was about two. She appeared to me to be on some sort of constant amphetamine high, bouncing around, jumping on people, never still. My sister when she met Mia shook her head, and said she doubted I would ever get used to that kind of manic energy, and wondered what kind of crummy dog trainer Chuck was. What she didn’t understand, and what I came to learn, was that Chuck viewed Mia as family, and treated her as such.
She ran away when she was around 7, and was gone for 2 weeks. We spent almost every day out looking for her and as time passed became sadly certain that she had been hit by a car or otherwise met her end. Then a guy found her near a flood channel where she had been lurking, eating scraps and drinking brackish water. She was so thin we thought she might not recover – but she did. She did it again a few weeks later so we built a 7-foot high fence to contain her.
She has spent countless hours riding shotgun in the cars, jumping between the front and back seats, sticking her head out the window, tongue lolling – her idea of heaven. She’s been Chuck’s steady running companion, happy to slow her pace to his as needed, willing to go as long or as short as the day demanded. She protected me once when a dog attacked us when we were out running, putting herself between me and the attacking dog. She stood her ground although that dog came at her and took a chunk out of her side, not willing to leave my side.
She has a degenerating spine, and her back legs are going out on her so walking is getting pretty tough. Her running days are over now, and her walks are limited to the end of the driveway and back. She can’t go up and down the stairs anymore or jump in and out of the car like the old days. She’s on meds now: anti-inflamatory for her arthritis, a pain med for the back leg discomfort and a mild tranquilizer so she can sleep at night (versus get up, ramble around, snuffle or lick mindlessly and/or chew on her leg until it’s raw). She has to get a running start (which is pretty funny since she can’t actually run straight anymore) to jump onto her favorite chair. She manages it about 50% of the time, but keeps trying until she makes it. If we dare to help her, she jumps right down: she wants to do it for HERSELF. But for all of these struggles, she still wakes up each day with her tail wagging, her eyes bright, ready for a new day.
We don’t know how much longer we’ll have her, so we are starting to take special note of each day, spoil her a little bit more, hug her just a little bit closer.
Old pets are our reminders of the transience of life, I think. I am taking heed. We should all remember to treasure the days.