“That’s it,” I barked. “I don’t care how old you are, you’re going back on the Gentle Leader until you learn how to walk like a lady.”
“Oh no, really?” my wife said.
“Oh yeah,” I answered. “It’s time she finally starts acting like a civilized mongrel.”
Harumph!
The lady, of course, is a dog — my dog. A wonderful dog, by most accounts, but one who often treats a walk as an opportunity to see if she can pop my arm out of socket. Not every walk. Many are nice, quiet strolls where she leisurely sniffs and befouls the neighborhood like a good animal.
But others are epic struggles when it looks more like a man being dragged down the street by a miniature ox. So much strength for a dog who only weighs 31 pounds … wet.
“You’re an old lady,” I explained to her that day during one of our many time-outs. “When are you going to start acting like it?”
She just sat there staring at me. Her eyes had glossed over and she was panting so ferociously that I feared her tongue might snap off and flop about like a fish. She gets that way when not enough oxygen is reaching the brain.
Chase, my dog, is no young pup. By our estimation she’s going on 14, which would be 98 in people years if you believe such things.
But you would never know it by the spring in her step, her youthful exuberance, or how she appears to be training for the Iditarod. A true American mutt who seems to be part beagle and part spaniel, she has a nose like a bloodhound and the body of an Olympic sprinter — super strong back legs that just won’t quit.
“Boy, she has a lot of energy,” people ask, mainly to be polite. Most people recognize it’s rude to walk up to a perfect stranger and ask if their dog is rabid or certifiably insane. “Say, mister, what’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing really, except that I never should have let her drink that second cup of coffee.” If not for her graying muzzle and the few lumps and bumps, most would figure the old girl is really a young pup. She does still look the part, and certainly acts it.
I keep wondering when she’ll slow down. When she’ll learn to take it easy.
But since she won’t of her own accord, she’s back on the Gentle Leader — a collar with a strap that hooks over the top of the snout. It doesn’t hurt or hinder her. Dogs just seem to hate anything that slightly presses against the ridge of their honker — so much so that they will even stop pulling and walk like respectable animals.
Simple, but remarkably effective.
Chase, at first, seemed demoralized and hamstrung by it. Even defeated. Her trachea is no longer in danger of collapsing when we go for walks, and I can tell part of her misses that horrible choking sensation. She doesn’t like it, but she has accepted this more relaxed, slowed-down pace.
But I wonder why she hasn’t slowed down on her own. Doesn’t she realize she’s an old dog? Isn’t she tired? I had always pictured her getting to an age where the two of us could sit down to afternoon tea and play bridge. But she seems to want no part of such a lifestyle.
She still leaps up like a shark to steal food out of your hand, and will launch herself off the edge of the porch with reckless abandon in pursuit of cats. With her legs spinning wildly and her nails clawing at the wood in a desperate bid for traction, she looks like what can only be described as a furry airplane crash.
But on the other hand, we could learn a lot from a dog like that. Dogs don’t understand their own mortality, or that they’re growing older. They don’t know their age, or that they should start acting it. They’re all about seizing the day — squeezing every last drip out of everything they do. They’ll push themselves to the limits until they literally keel over in a panting mess of slobber. They’re forever kids at heart, and that youthfulness is, frankly, inspiring.
Besides, do I really want my dog to grow old? To slow down? To go quietly into hound dog retirement where the next stop is something I don’t want to think about?
So, maybe I should be thankful she has to go back on the Gentle Leader, just like a fresh-from-the-pound puppy. Thankful that even at her age I’m still having to search for ways to keep the old girl from ripping my arm out of socket. Could a dog owner want anything more?