My first dog (as an adult) was 9 when I adopted her from rescue. She was already a senior. She quickly became my other half being the young college student I was. Almost a year and a half later, cancer took her from me. It was the most profound loss I had endured. With her came so much happiness and healing during time when I felt incredibly lost. To have to say goodbye so soon…was unbearable. I mourned intensely for so long. It gutted me.

Now I sit here typing this with my second dog pushing into my leg, snoring away. A dog who has been with me for a third of my life at this point. I’m often reflecting, due to his sugar face, at what things were like when he first came home. It was just a few months after my first passed away and I was not ready to love another. I remember saying to myself that I would train this second dog, but I would never love another. Right.

I write this now because it has been an intense emotional time for me this year watching things change for him. He was 2 when he came home. He is now 12. I feel like I am in a pre-mourning stage. Every day feels like those times when you go on a trip to see a family member or friend and you know it’s the last day to be in their presence before returning home. You feel this brewing urgency to take in every single second…to be fully present so you can burn this into memory. 

When I feed him, I’m thinking “I’m so glad you’re still here for me to have this routine with you“. Buying his pain management meds and preventatives makes me think “I wonder how many more months I’ll still be able to buy these“. These thoughts are accompanied by the bit of relief I feel knowing that I’ve been able to stay out longer for work hours because he is in a deeper sleep nowadays. The relief yet gut-wrenching realization that he doesn’t require hours of exercise. He spends most of his time sleeping anymore.

The sugar creeps down on his chest, shoulders and feet now. His spine isn’t flanked by thick muscle. His body is covered in skin tags and fatty lumps. His eyes reflect blue in certain light. His once perfect airplane ears are altered from his very first surgery last year. His winter jacket, the same one that he started with when he came home, hangs a little different with his thinner body. 

With the physical changes comes the very normal behavior changes. Being sensitive to handling regardless of having a behavior expert as a mom. Not coming to bed at night and instead looking up from the couch as though that is a job just too big to try. Protection of food & special treats. Startle responses when in a deep sleep and his best cat friends brush a little too close. The pride I’ve always felt about having such a perfect dog…is a little lighter these days. He’s still perfect…just in a different way. 

We’ve been facing so many of these changes for so long now. Each day adding something new it seems. I laugh at myself because I have always wanted to have a senior dog that I could tote around in a cart in their last days. I’ve told him that ever since we entered the senior years. Careful what you wish for…

I’ve also told him daily that I wish for him to someday pass restfully in his sleep. My last girl had a very traumatic passing. I can only hope we avoid something like that. It feels hopeful that we’ve jumped many “typical” medical and physical hurdles over the years. I used to say that I couldn’t wait for him to be a stinky, lumpy, old man. Here we are. 

I’m both grieving and grateful.