“You can get a cat as long as it barks.”
This line from The Proclaimers sums up well Paul’s stance in our postnuptial deliberations about household pets. And if his dogged determination wasn’t enough, a convenient cat allergy sealed the deal. Our two little Yorkies, Spenser and Marlowe, are now in their fourteenth year.
I have not had the experience of nursing an animal in old age before. Growing up beside a road on a rather treacherous corner, few of our felines made it into their later years. It is only now in the wintering of our two boys’ lives that I am witnessing a beauty I had not expected.
I’d heard of the absolute trust and devotion of dogs. I’d heard of the bond between a dog and its master. But now, after years of cohabitation, the connection between us is strong. In fact, so familiar is their voice to me, I am taken aback that our creatures have not uttered actual words.
The rhythm of their day pulses slowly now, much of it passing in sleep. And even though to other people they will seem increasingly mangy, to us they are as lovely as ever. Maybe even more so.
A shared history brings with it mutual understanding. At least, it feels that way with us and our boys as we navigate together the challenges of time on their aging bodies.
The Dog Days of Winter He lies weak, gently quaking Too heavy on stick limbs To reach the favoured spot. Crumpling, his bald tail Whips tightly into place – A container of sorts For this quivering frame. Its grip begins to loosen. Familiar hands cup Ears, muzzle, sides Working their tender caresses. Cloudy eyes pool, expunging All fear and loneliness.