VERY OLD DOG

Patience, Fat Charlie, and Giacomino (bottom dog)

It is my nature to be introspective and reflective, an affliction that is both a blessing and a curse. Last evening my attention was directed at, or responsive to, Giacomino, our very old whippet. Giacomino (“jocko-meeno”) is 14 years old, quite ancient for a whippet, and was one of our first rescue dogs, a rescue that I like to believe I played an instrumental role. He is every bit Patience’s dog, as are all of the others with the exception of Delia, and under her expert tutelage has won more honors than my non-dog mind can comprehend. But what I do understand, and do so with painful clarity, is my emotional attachment to this dog. I cannot look at him without remembering the 10 week old, skinny puppy with the worried face, the face that has never left him, and feel him tugging at my heart.

He is now quite wobbly, and his worried face often shares an amusing look of confusion. He moves slowly, needs guidance on our stairs from hell, and finds it a struggle to simply lie down. Yet in spite of his age and infirmities, he always maintains an air of dignity, and I can’t help thinking that he wants us to relax and stop fretting. He knows he is old and that his future is limited, but hey, isn’t that what life is all about. He is not concerned, and neither should we be. He certainly doesn’t feel sorry for himself, why should he? As I see him enjoy what he still has and what he can do, with no trace of self pity or regrets I wonder if I would be capable of the same.

That I love this old dog, more than any other cannot be denied and I will cry when he is gone. But I will not feel sorry for him.