Animal Chronicles
Loving An Old Dog: K.D. & Me
by Elaine Sichel
As her elderly eyes grow a little cloudy from the early stages of cataracts, we see more deeply into each other’s souls than ever before. And as my 13-year-old Great Dane mix, K.D., slows down a bit from the inevitable infirmities of arthritis, we feel closer than ever on our gentle walks, stopping frequently to rest and watch songbirds, admire squirrels high in the trees and gaze at the occasional deer off in the distance. In the old (or young) days, she would have been off in every direction, me trailing behind, trying in vain to keep her out of trouble. Now we are truly together, on a single path. And while she helps me slow down to a gentler pace of life, I am able to help keep her engaged and involved with all life still has to offer. We are good for each other.
We have a shared history at this point, which matters. Whereas, once she was the new, enigmatic dog, forced to fit into an already established pack of two humans and two dogs, she is now my sole companion, and I, hers. It is no exaggeration to say she is a queen or high priestess of sorts (as her bearing has only become more regal with time and she does seem to reign over her little domain). We lost her brothers, a Pit Bull mix and a Yellow Lab mix, both of whom lived to be 12-1/2, and divorce split the human part of her pack in half. So now it is just her and me, and in a way, we share a survivor status for all the losses we have endured together.
I know she trusts me to the core of her being, and I to hers. She relies on me to give her her medication, to make sure the floor mats are placed about the house so she will not fall on slippery surfaces, to protect her from frisky pups we may encounter on our walks, and to give her the extra boost she needs when she jumps onto her special platform so she can still get in the back of the SUV. When my dog was young, I often felt like I was just a ride to the really fun stuff — the open space hikes, the frisbee tossing, the pet supply store, the bank counter with the cookies … but now I think I am the cherry on her sundae. She is truly content to just sit with me on a park lawn, leaning into me just enough to make sure I am beside her, steady and present. Is this the same dog, who years back, I fruitlessly bellowed at as she vanished ahead on the hiking trail, intent on some real or imagined quarry? Is she the same dog who now goes for leash-free strolls, but who, for countless years, pulled so hard at the end of her leash that I am certain my left arm is permanently longer than my right?
When I adopted K.D., her name was spelled T-R-O-U-B-L-E (not really; her paperwork said “Chelsea,” but it might as well have said CAUTION: PROJECT AHEAD!). Her cage card read “MUST GO TO A HOME WITH NO OTHER DOGS” — the admonishment was circled, highlighted and underlined. Being a know-it-all, I surmised she was not dangerous, just frightened. Well, she adjusted relatively quickly to our two dogs, but out in the real world, she was dangerous. But hundreds of hours of training and socialization later, and with years of practice and patience and love, she is the perfect dog. The black dog with the dull coat, still lactating from the litter with which she was surrendered to the shelter, with fear, trepidation and anxiety reflected in her dark eyes, has become the most healthy, grounded, stable, level-headed, nurturing dog I have ever known. She is wise, kind, gentle, loving and unassailably trustworthy. She is a testament to the powers of training and time.
K.D.’s coat, while glossy, is now generously dusted with silver up and down her legs, across her chest, up her neck, and all about her face. If you roll her over on her back (which she absolutely would not have permitted years ago), a soft belly with a swirling thicket of silver fur is exposed. If you support her, she will just stay upside down and let you rub her tummy indefinitely. As she basks in the attention, it is impossible not to note the sheer delight in her eyes and the facsimile of a silly grin her loose lips make as she lays upended. It is in those special moments, when trust is manifested so deeply, that I hear myself say a prayer of thanks for getting to share life with this dog, and for the gift of growing older together. No other experience in life can compare with loving an old dog.
Elaine Sichel is a former MHS employee who lives in Novato.
