Geriatric Canine

HB is such a large dog that he frequently draws a crowd when I take him out for a walk. Lately, however, he has been attracting an altogether different sort of attention since he flops down on the sidewalk for a rest rather often during our walks. He is nearly 13 years old which, for a St. Bernard and other giant breeds who age at the rate of 9 years per solar year, makes him positively ancient. His health is admirable with the exception of his arthritis which makes him limpy, gimpy and otherwise unenthusiastic about walking around the block. HB chased a cat down a flight of stairs and injured one of his front legs when he was 7 and that leg has been especially problematic now that arthritis has set in. He has good days and bad days, days he can manage to get to the park and days that he doesn't want to gimp even as far as the corner. I give him aspirin and, more recently, I have begun to give him Rimadyl in the hope that they will ease his chronic aches and pains. All things considered, he's doing pretty damn well for a dog who is getting on towards 117 human years in age.

HB and I have been together since he was a wee and rather adorable puppy so when someone on the sidewalk casts me a dirty look or tells me that I should euthanise him, it's like someone telling you to put a bullet to the head of your old grandmother with the walker since, clearly, she's not getting around so well anymore and in pain. He's family and I don't know how people think that it's ok to tell a complete stranger that you should kill your old dog since he looks tired and gimpy. My parents had an ancient dachshund who was deaf, blind, toothless and diabetic, which required daily insulin shots that my mother administered. I only once hinted that perhaps it would be time to start thinking about putting Gus to sleep as I knew how much they loved that dog. They did eventually when they could see that his quality of life was gone and my father would never speak of that day without crying. My mother mentioned later that my father had, on the sly, arranged to have Gus cremated and his remains placed in an urn which was sent to the house. Ending a pet's life is no easier than pulling a kevorkian for old gran, especially when they have so much life left in them. I keep hoping that HB will expire quietly in his sleep some night and not force me to do the most unpleasant of duties. It's a dark, secret and odious thought that haunts all geriatric pet owners. Until then, I'll keep patiently waiting for him when he flops down on the sidewalk to take a rest or pauses to muster the strength to keep going towards the park so he can smell all the trees and who has been recently watering them.