You know you’re getting older when you’ve been the custodian of four or five dogs and cats in succession, each one a distinct personality and a charmer. Or a hellion charmer. There are plenty of those.
At what age does it occur to you that your pet might outlive you rather than the other way around? Once you cross the 75 barrier, these are thoughts that can’t be wished away. Yes, you may have lots of time left. But you can’t help but notice that certain things that seemed possible, even probable, now have become unreachable.
Such as learning Spanish. Reading all the Russian novels you’ve dragged from abode to abode since your teens or twenties. Tossing out those old photographs of your parents’ friends. Who on earth are these people? You’ll probably dump them back in their carton, even the Polaroids that have faded to shadowy pastels.
I faced this question when nearly 16-year-old Chaco died of cancer. Chaco was the best dog in just about every way. He would thread his way through the chicken yard at a snail’s pace so he wouldn’t upset the hens. He knew the difference between tree squirrels — never chase — and ground squirrels — OK to kill. He would sit at the entrance to a county building as I covered a board of supervisors meeting and not move a muscle. If someone talked to him he would be friendly but reserved. I’m on duty, he would say. My duty is to wait.
When you have the perfect dog, it’s hard to imagine having another. But you also sense that upswelling of love lying in wait for something furry and fun. It’s like a current that needs to go somewhere, a flood held back until the dam breaks.
Here was my logic: If I get a wonderful dog and I die, someone will want that wonderful dog. He won’t languish in a shelter, unloved and miserable.
Shay is not Chaco, not by any stretch. He’s his own guy, nervier, more hyper, but sweet. He gets me out of the house twice a day to take him to a dog park, where I chat with people and throw balls so he can leap in the air. Instead of me staring at my computer, we go for a walk along a shady creek, watching for quick lizards and lazy snakes. The cats love him (though they glared when I brought home a puppy. What are you thinking!)
A friend has taken a more responsible path: her last three cats were adopted from owners who died. The youngest pair was ten when they came into Elisabeth’s life. The two brothers had lived on a houseboat in Sausalito. Older and wiser, they were fine adapting to a life without San Francisco Bay at their paw-tips.
Elisabeth is now in an assisted living facility. She adopted another elderly cat after the brothers died. The facility has a one-pet rule for each resident, which means a lot of dogs and cats also live there.
And it makes sense: Many studies have shown the health benefits of having a pet. Pet ownership results in lower blood pressure, anxiety, cholesterol, better cognitive function, and more opportunities to socialize.
When I was in my early twenties, I lived next door to a couple in their late seventies. Their adored dog had died, and they told me that they would never get another dog because they wanted to treasure his memory. At the time, I thought this was sad. Now it seems tragic.
Being alive means making new memories, not clinging to old ones. A charming hellion is in your future, not just your past. Go meet her.
What does a longer lifespan mean to you? Two talented columnists tag-team every Friday to tackle the challenges that inform your choices — whether you’re pushing 17 or 70. Recent Stanford Center on Longevity Visiting Scholar Susan Nash looks at life experiences through an acerbic personal lens, while longtime writer and health reporter Tony Hicks takes the macro view to examine how society will change as the aging population grows ever larger. Mendocino Voice editor Lin Due fills in for Nash and Hicks this week. Check in every Friday to expand your vision of living the long game and send us your feedback, column suggestions and ideas for future coverage to newsroom@baycitynews.com.
Great article and a perspective I share! I do have written instructions for the (next) carer of my precious dog. And a very reliable person to “Vet” that new person!!
Of course, I hope that we (dog and I) die together so this is not so much a worry.
Nuclear fallout anyone?? Not too cynical.
On the coasr here we need more veterinarians! Still in line at Village Veterinarian after 4 years. Maybe then I can get a pet.
Call them. You may have missed a call from them. I was on the list for a year and a half. I called and asked them to please check my status. Turns out that somehow I missed a call and message at the 6 month mark. We are in now and so so happy!
When I was around 64 I walked into a pop up cat adoption event. A grumpy old woman told me I was too old to adopt. I was so taken aback, did I look THAT old? All that I could think as I walked out of that shelter was how many animals does that woman keep in cages, kept away from a warm lap and some attention so that she could select the perfect young person for her little friends? Isn’t a few years with real love worth a lot more than months and months (or years) waiting for the “right” adopter wrong for the animals who sit in cages? I am still shaking my head at that experience.
Last year I lost my husband after 53 years together. Six months later I had to put one of my precious little minions down. She was a skin and bones hairless and dejected young mom whose pups had been gleefully adopted out, and there she was, sitting in the shelter looking like death was her next stop. She was silent for the first week, we fed her chicken. She was exhausted. She slept and ate. She liked to lie on the sun warmed rocks in the back yard. I have never seen a dog that skeletal and still alive. You could see every rib bone in that poor girl clearly articulated. The diet of chicken worked. Over the next 7 years she becomes the most loyal, clever, funny friend. She only lived 7 years. The tick born disease that had contributed to her health decline when we adopted her was treated, but she had carried it in her little body, it finally overcame her immune system.
I gave it a few months. My other dog was lost. I kept looking at our local shelter for the right dog to match with my 5 year old Buster. Then I saw Brooklyn. What a face! Kind of a puggle but where did those long legs come from? She was 5 months.
At 73 I was ready to take this little monster in. She was not housebroken. She runs around like her legs can’t stop. I have a great big back yard. The older dog was quick to put her in her place. Which she has been trying to move out of for the whole 7 months we’ve had her living with us. Funny thing, Buster was adopted from a very stressed situation with no trust left in him. After the very outgoing Brooklyn came onboard, he has learned from her some endearing dog maneuvers for more hugs, contact and cuddles. They have become great buddies. The pet spot carpet cleaner has earned it’s storage spot. These are serious guard dogs. Nothing gets by them.
I’m in great health. Pretty sure I will outlive these little guys. Screw that cat lady.