I walked the dog this morning, something that I get to do every once in a while. He normally walks with his Mom but today he got me as the “you’re not HER but you’ll do all right” substitute. Yes, he’s a DOG but he can make it rain guilt and shame with a look. The dog is over 108 years old in human years, can barely put any weight on his front legs, his back legs sway like a drunk wandering down Main Street, and his breathing is so labored from the exhausting task of waking up that you’d think he’d snuck out, run five miles, and returned home just before your alarm clock went off. Yet, none of this keeps him from his duty of following you around in the morning until you relent and break out the leash. Just the sight of it sends him into a child-like frenzy of skipping and hopping on 108-year-old legs that don’t understand why the brain is acting like a seven-year-old.
So, off we went in the 5am breaking dawn, hobbling down the street, stopping to smell every tree, shrub, and weed. As I stood watching him investigate every fence post, light pole, street sign pole, and every rockpile over the course of less than 1/4 mile, I realized that these were all “stops” on the Urine Marking Highway that he would have blown past when he was more able-bodied. Now, after years of racing to get to the Holy Grail of Leg Hiking, across a four-lane road that he’s not fast enough to clear before the crosswalk signal expires, he’s discovered an entire frontier of new sights and smells.
There was a lesson learned in this. First, old dogs can teach people new tricks. And when we’re 108 and can’t cross the street anymore, there will still be new sights and smells to discover. How cool is that?
