I needed to bring a treat with me outdoors tonight to get Chelsea to do her final business of the day in the backyard, before retiring for the evening. It was a very warm day here today and so it was still very pleasant while we had our last outdoors time together this evening.
We had enjoyed a walk earlier in the day, which was equally as pleasant. What’s not to love about 60 degree days in January?
They used to say the best kept secret in Colorado was January. But January in Kentucky is pretty nice, too.
With old dogs, like some people, it’s pretty simple: give them a reason to do even the most basic of bodily functions, such as a treat, and they are all about the urination now so dad won’t have to let you out at 1 a.m., because he let you sleep straight through.
With all the Lance Armstrong hoopla recently and while I live and play with an elderly poochie, I wonder if given the choice to improve how you feel, instead of how well you perform in competitive, professional sports, would you take a little something extra in order to do so?
Being in a running club also makes me think about performance enhancing drugs. My mind, much like Chelsea’s, continually makes deals with the body that the body really wants no part of.
“You can DO this seven mile run, brother! Yes you can!”
Well, yes, I can. But for the next few days afterwards my creaky hip serves up reminders that I’m among the oldest runners in the group.
That is the thing with aging. For me, the most annoying part of it is my vision, or should I say, the deteriorating lack of it. In Chelsea’s case, it is her hearing (although sometimes it appears selective, but seriously, it is going out on her).
Are the aches and pains, the deterioration and erosion of the body’s fluidity of motion, the longer recovery times necessary after periods of excess indulgence or exertion, the wandering around aimlessly trying to remember what body part needs licking the next time I lay down (oh sorry, Chels), all an absolute part of the aging process?
Chelsea, like a lot of dogs is an obsessive licker. She’ll lick until she’s snorting exhalations like an older man running further than he should.
Since my sweetie has been gone on business, Chels and I have been doing some renewed bonding. Her back legs have weakened over time and they occasionally go out on her. Depending on how tired she is, she will wait until either Rhonda or I give her a boost back up and she’s trotting off merrily on her way.
Depending on how tired I am, I pace myself and map out the amount of work that needs doing in any given chunk of time. Sometimes, unhealthily enough, I will engage in what an old friend once referred to as “fatigue eating.” Fatigue eating is my version of licking.
In fact, Chelsea will engage in some of her most fast and furious licking just prior to settling in to a full-bore snore.
I’ve done all of my homework and have to throw the upstairs bedding (Chels and I are hanging in the downstairs bedroom—she has her bed in here and will wake me up in the a.m. for wee wee and feeding like a good doggie alarm clock) in the dryer before crashing.
But not before doing my business one last time, sans treat of course.
Goodnight all you fellow gracefully aging people.