That's my favorite part, too!  Thanks for the tissue alert; think I'm just going to keep a box near the laptop; save me running to the bathroom snorting and sniffling. 

There's a great book called "Old Dogs are the Best Dogs" by Gene Weingarten and Michael Williamson; lovely photos and stories.  I bought it after my Spirit Logan went over The Bridge at 14 (not bad for a cranky GSD) and I love to re-read it and think about all the old souls we've loved.

Thanks, Christine.

-Liz and Roxie (who prefers "mature" to "old")  Roo Roo!!

You know, I have had animals my entire life...dogs and cats--and then other assorted critters with fins, fur, scales, and feathers. And some got old, and some never made it--which is the way it is with life, I guess.

Never though, until this point, have I really understood the Old Dog--not until now, with Sammy. And the funny thing is, I can't figure out how I came to this understanding, because MY dog wasn't old...until one day, I realized he was. It just sort of sneaked up on me.

We always joke that Sam was the world's oldest puppy. Even in his prime, he was a laid-back, ottoman-esque (the furnishing, not the empire), sort of guy.

And somewhere along the line, things must have happened...his fur started falling out years ago. His thyroid went not long after. And there were other things along the way--weight loss, lumps and bumps, the arthritis. And on it goes. But it was so gradual, I guess I never recognized it happening to US, even though it was easy to see in others.

Isn't that how it always goes, that old joke? You know, one day, you're looking in the mirror wondering who this old lady in your bathroom is, and why is she hogging all the counter space, and you realize...that old lady is YOU.

And I KNOW that Sam is old. And I know, logically, he is That Gross Old Dog--he is bald. Aside from his front legs and face, what remains of his coat are sparse, sort of greasy guard hairs. He has large lipomas (including one right by his junk...which we are convinced is his way of trying to grow some replacement jumblies. We cal it the do-it-yourself Neuticles :p). His back is hunched. He walks funny. Until he lost his leg, strangers seemed to be vaguely off-put by him (but for some reason, with three legs, and cancer, they seem to think it's normal...they assume that he is on chemo, and that dogs lose their hair with chemo, too. Which he is not, and dogs do not. But whatever, I let them assume. :p)

But he is still that same Sampson. He still just wants to be left alone to chew his sticks in the yard. He wants to eat cat crap out of the boxes--even though navigating and surmounting the barricades to them is a bit trickier now. He wants to beach himself in the sunshine. To rip up cardboard and toss the shartlets of it all over hell. He's still curmudegonly and anti-lovey dovey. He's still stubborn as hell.

I can't deny that he is old. He is old, and he has infirmities. And I won't pretend that being old doesn't suck balls, and yeah, sometimes, it's hard on both of us (selfishly speaking, I guess). But for all of the things that are different now, some things are still the same...and maybe that's really what loving an old dog teaches you: the inevitability of change, of loss, of entropy, of...difference; but at the same time, the permanence of self, the touchpoint of "what is."

There are some things in life that you never fully understand until you experience them--what those things are is different for everyone, for sure (because otherwise we'd all be robot drones or Borg assimilates). And I am sure this is a lesson or an idea that people can learn in many different ways or situations...but for me, it has truly been one of those situations that has made me see the world just a little bit differently. Like, "WHAT???? Old people are people, TOO??" Well, no, not just like that...because I certainly know that. More just that it added a layer of understanding I didn't know I was missing. (And also b/c when I say "people" I mean "dogs"...but you know what I mean, and this way it has a much better rhythm.)

Growing old, BEING old...it's a part of life. And it can be kind of a bald, smelly, lumpy part of life, at that. But it is what it is, and it's all we get. So bitch about it, bemoan it, and grouse, for sure, but don't pretend it isn't there (Oh, Sammer, I know if we lived down in Arizona, I'd have to keep and eye on you, b/c someone would likely see you and try and sell you to Ripley's as a GUARANTEED LIVE CHUPACABRA!!!)...and then laugh where you can find the humour in it, smile when you recognize the familiar in it, and know that what is, is, and I suppose will always be, in some way, shape, or form.

benny55 said

Oh! You forgot to add incontinent!

Hugs to sweet, mature Sam! Keep on gettng more ture Sam! You'll reach that incontinent goal yet!

Sally!  :p I'm pretty sure we can do without the incontinence part I've got a cat with CRF, so trust me, there is enough pee a-flowin in our house without adding to it. Maybe we could add "grey hair (fur)" as our next aging milestone instead, mmm? Much easier to deal with, and requires no Nature's Miracle Stain Remover. :p