SENIORITIS

Monday, 06 February 2017 19:25

When people learn that I adopt senior dogs they always tell me that they could never do it because they won’t have them long enough.

I call bull cookies on that. No one who has ever loved a dog has had it long enough.

Or they’ll start praising me because every dog deserves a home, and seniors have usually been dumped through no fault of their own. All true, but it misses the point.

Once you get past the gray whiskers and cloudy eyes, senior dogs are amazing. For one thing seniors are so darn easy. They are the perfect starter dog.

If you’re a first time dog owner, who is clueless, no worries. They arrive already knowing the important stuff. Seniors dogs are like pre-assembled furniture: someone else has done the heavy lifting of training.

All of my geezers have been housebroken and came with perfect manners. In fact, they are usually too proper for my dog-centric house.

My dowager queen, Morgan Brittany, came to me at twelve and stayed for another six years. She was so genteel that she absolutely refused to get on the furniture. When I was so uncouth as to place her on the bed or a couch she’d freeze in place and look stricken until, to her immense relief, I put her back on the floor.

An old dog will never chew up your new Pradas. While they’re fully aware that shoes can occasionally be tasty, they already know that a bite of Gucci loafer isn’t worth the repercussions. So instead they will gnaw on their bacon-flavored Nylabone and try to look happy.

That old saying, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks?” Nonsense.

None of my oldsters had ever encountered a dog door, but it took them each about two seconds to learn. And, unlike every puppy I’ve ever had, no old dog is stupid enough try to get a three foot branch through a two foot dog door.

Old dogs are adaptable. They patiently take what life throws at them.

When Rocky (another senior Brittany) arrived, he’d lived with an older couple for several years after he retired from showing and stud dog duties. He’d gotten a little pudgy, and didn’t race around with the other dogs chasing off invisible intruders. But when I took out the leashes, he was always the first in line for a walk. We didn’t go as far as the others nor as fast, but we walked every day.

Annie the Wonder Dog had been a rent-a-dog/breeding bitch. During hunting season she was loaned out for the week, day or month and in the off-season she was bred. At twelve she was done breeding and handed over to the American Brittany Rescue, who handed her over to me.

I met Annie at a small Los Angeles airport, where she was flown in by a member of Pilots and Paws, a fantastic group of volunteer pilots who move rescue dogs all around the country. Annie had never been on a plane before. But she happily got in the cockpit and parked herself behind the pilot. Apparently she enjoyed the ride and looked out the window the entire flight.

After we posed for the requisite “Forever home” photos, Annie was done. She dragged me to my car and hopped into the passenger seat and curled up.

When she walked into the house, the other dogs, Rocky and a Great Dane, mobbed her. Annie remained polite and moved on with her life. She quickly found the food bowls, the dog beds and the couch. She never looked back.

People always tried introducing Annie to their puppies. She hated puppies. She’d had enough of babies when she was a working mother. Puppies were the only thing that made her growl.

But there is one thing about old dogs that no one discusses: they are bossy. In her dotage, Morgan liked to go to bed early. There were lots of dog beds scattered around the house for that very purpose. But she also believed that 9PM was a reasonable time for everyone to hit the hay.

So, beginning around 8:50 every night, Morgan would lie in the bedroom doorway and she’d bark. And bark. Eventually I gave up and bought a television for the bedroom; we were both happier.

Every time I adopt an older dog I know I won’t have them for long and I swear I won’t fall in love. But then I meet them, and look into their gentle eyes. Bam! I’m hooked.

When they pass, I’m always heartbroken. But I wouldn’t give up a minute I shared with any of them. I lost Rocky in August. I’m still mourning, but I’ll probably be ready for my next senior soon.

Sharon Liveten is a freelance writer who lives in Los Angeles with far too many animals. Her blog, Lion and Tigers and Bears Etc. is at lionsandtigersandbearsetc.blogspot.com