Bedtime Story

I think as dog owners, we're more in tune with the impermanence of life than maybe others.  Or at least maybe more so than the general population who are below the age of 60.  And it's because we have beloved family members who are so important to us live such fleeting lives.  Ironically, it was a happy moment this week that got me thinking such an ominous thought.

Here's how it went:

Fall is here!  After October introducing itself with nearly 90 degree temperatures, it's chilly now.  There were even a few flakes of snow fluttering earlier today when we were - largely unsuccessfully - trying to take Baby H's two-year photos out of doors.

I love this time of year: football is in full swing, hockey has begun, you can find pumpkin flavored everything everywhere (did you know there's actually a pumpkin flavored rum - it's not bad either).  What's not to love?  Well, of course, ask me in a couple of weeks when I've killed myself all day raking leaves, but for now - seriously, what's not to love?  And maybe my favorite thing of all is climbing into bed underneath my heavy wool blanket and cuddling up with Geddy at my feet, and there we stay until the alarm pulls us out of our little cocoon.  Like a living, breathing security blanket.  But the other night as he snuggled in tight against the fold of my legs, for some reason that made me think how isn't it odd how intrinsically my dogs over the years have chosen to curl up at the foot of the bed, not at the head of the bed?  No one taught them that, they seem to have it hard wired in their brains that a dog's place on the bed is at our feet.  I don't know why that is (I'm sure I could find something out on the internet somewhere about it if I really wanted), but in all these years as a dog owner, only two of the dogs in my charge really wanted a different position.  When I was very, very young, I took in a poor stray toy poodle for a while who liked to sleep on a pillow next to my head.  I re-homed her, but always regretted that and wished I'd kept her - she was a real sweetheart.  And then there was Myrna.

Myrna patiently allowing the girls
to play dress up with her

Myrna with her brother Chappy, both seniors here

Myrna was a lab/Dalmatian mix who had diabetes.  Over time, she went blind, but handled it like she did everything else: with patience and grace.  In many ways, Rooney reminds me of her.  Quiet, sweet natured, patient, but loved us and her life.  One big difference between Rooney and Myrna, however, is that Myrna liked to sleep on the bed like a human.  Her head on the pillow, she would stretch out length wise with her back tight against me.  I always wondered if that's because she couldn't see me, so she wanted that physical contact more intently than the others.  Whatever the reason, I'd sling my arm over her and feel the rise and fall of her breathing as she slept and let it lull me into sleep myself.  I remember thinking in those quiet moments (it was during the years my daughters were teenagers - quiet moments were few and far between), that I needed to cherish these moments, and that at some point I would look back at her life and think how fleeting it was.  And that was true.  I do look back and think her time with me was so brief, despite her living a good number of years for a large dog despite her disease.

Well, here we are again, living in a situation where quiet moments are few and far between.  The dogs have dealt with that like troopers, but sometimes I can tell they are aware that things are different now, and not just because there's that mysterious black cat that looks so menacing in the room where they used to sleep.   I spend a lot of energy trying to make sure I'm caring for them properly: that they have the best food, healthy treats, plenty of engaging toys.  I worry that they get brushed enough, and that all the water stations on every floor of the house is full, but you know what they really want?  Just me.  And I find that a cuddle with a dog is exactly what I need as well.

Anyway, as Geddy and I settled ourselves down for the night, and I was contemplating all of this, it crossed my mind that there is a lot of truth to the old proverbial saying, "Stop and smell the roses."  And I've always known that you have to exercise a little self care as a caregiver, or you burn out and can't fulfill your obligation.  Well, for dog owners, I think that can translate into a slightly different philosophy:

Stop and Pet A Dog

Your dog isn't concerned with that fancy shampoos, and they don't know how much research you put into their food.  They want you most of all.  But there's a definite quid pro quo.  Cuddle with your dog at least for a while each and every day to recharge your batteries so you can meet your obligations to all the humans in your life.  Need a little humanity?  That canine looking up at you can help with that.

Sweet dreams!