"I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with the nonhuman world and somehow survives...Paradox and bedrock."-Edward Abbey

21 January 2014

Senior Stomp

He always knows when I'm going on walkabout whether or not I take him. When I do, he gets rather excited, forgetting he's the oldest of the three. He makes whiny noises and chomps his approval.

When I stop, whether to shed a layer, adjust my trek poles, or just take in my surroundings, he makes those noises, encouraging, almost begging, me to keep on. Sometimes, he nips at my heels, herding me like the creatures my mother trained him on so long ago. It's too amusing to be insulting.

The Lair of the Boggieman is at the beginning of the canyon, just below Cemetery Hill. Not that far away at all. By the time we reached the grove of aspens, one carved upon in the countenance of what we named the place for, he's not following so close behind. The excited whines and chomps are replaced by panting. We've gone maybe a mile, but that mile, coupled with deep snow has worn him out.

It's slow going heading back. Lots of breaks. His fifteen year old bones are stiff. I offer to carry him, but he pushes on out of tenacity and perhaps spite. He's not his arthritic half-brother. It's humiliating enough I have to lift him in and out of vehicles when we drive somewhere. His eyes tell me that.

At home, he promptly collapses in the parlor. I give him treats and scritch behind his ears, telling him how good he did. He chomps one last time before drifting off to sleep. The walkabout may have been exhausting for him, but he still approved.

9 comments:

  1. Ah, bless...so good you let him go with sometimes, even if it's not too far.

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    1. I miss our longer treks, but at least he can still go walking with me.

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  2. This made me kind of emotional, as it reminded me of my very first dog, a border collie names Boxie :)

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  3. REminds me of a huge malamute we had years ago, who could churn through deep snow for hours joining me on long cross-country skiing outings. Then it got to the point where I had to carry him up stairs. Sad when a good friend like that gets old.

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    1. Whistler's gone with me up a twelve-thousand footer and to the basin of thirteener-my happy place. He still likes to go walking, and I believe the day he doesn't I'll have to dig a hole.

      ...I dread that...

      P.S.

      I apologize for not replying to your last comment...during the many-muthafuckingfrustrating revisions, it got accidentally deleted. Apologies.

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  4. This reminds me of the one-on-one time I would carve out for my kids when they were little. Not an easy task, since there were at least four, and sometimes as many as six of them at any given time.
    Anyway, they loved the time and the attention, and it made them happier kids.

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    1. There are times where, despite their ages and the difference of species, the hounds are not much different than children.

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