Old Canine Musings
Yesterday was a beautiful day. I have to agree with my eldest son, autumn is a great time of year. The heat broke and we had a cool, clear day. After dinner, my husband took the three younger dogs out for a walk. I asked my younger son if he would take Marley, our fourteen year old shepard collie mix out for a short walk. He has arthritis and he had been on a fairly long walk that morning, so a short one was all he needed.
My youngest declined.
I slipped on my flip flops, got the leash and headed out for a short leisurely walk around the neighborhood.
It really just was perfect weather. It was just after 7, a cool mid-70's. We walked around observing neighbors playing basketball, playing in the yard and street, pulling weeds, riding bikes.
Marley was happy.
I was happy.
Before I even thought about it, we were at the lake. This is a big lake in the middle of the subdivision. There are ducks and geese and kingfishers...yes kingfishers, herons, egrets, all kinds of beautiful water fowl. I thought - it's just him and me. He loves to swim. It'll help his arthritis. So, I let him off the leash, he went down to the water's edge and eased in, with the most content dog face ever. I sat on the incline, watching him paddling after the birds, in a general sense of peace and quiet and calm, only broken periodically by the calling of the birds and the splattering of wings and water as they ran across the top to avoid the approaching beast. The sun was slowly sinking behind the trees.
It was just beautiful.
He swam.
Fifteen minutes passed.
He swam.
Thirty.
He's still swimming.
Now this dog is, what, ninety eight in people years? Thirty minutes of continuous swimming? More than enough, I would think.
I start calling.
Marley's hearing is not what it used to be.
It is definitely a lot more selective.
People come and go.
With their dogs.
On leashes.
On dry land.
I get up and start walking, shadowing him as he swims the length of the lake. Because we are now losing light.
I continue to call him.
Bird calls. Splattering. Marley! Marley!
Nothing. The dog is on a mission. A mission to ignore me and to get one of these blasted birds.
He turns back into the direction from whence he came, and I feel myself release a little.
Good.
He's finally had enough. I turn back and keep pace with him on the shore. But the light is seriously fading now. He is chasing black birds now, the kind that spend a lot of time underwater. His head is, of course, black. I can barely see him across the water.
And then he disappears into a shadow.
I am about two hundred yards away from where we started. I cannot see him at all.
I walk briskly back to the incline where we started this fiasco, and I squat down and squint across the water. It is seriously dark now. And the mosquitoes are out in swarms.
What's worse is all the activity amongst the birds in the water, the calling, the splattering, gone. Total quiet.
They are completely calm.
I see a bird figure swimming into the shadow where I believe Marley to be.
I wait.
It swims out the other side, calmly with nothing following.
I panic.
I run as fast as I can - damn flipflops! - back to my house, all the while trying to figure out exactly what I am going to do when I get there. As soon as I bust through the door, I burst into tears.
I can't find Marley! He was in the water and I couldn't see him anymore! He's gone! I can't find him!
Josh on the coach in the front room doing homework, leaps to his feet. Cody is a blur. I thought he ran upstairs to get something, but it turns out that he ran straight out the front door. He ran a full speed all the way to the lake as he heard "Marley" "water".
Josh got a flashlight. I asked where Lance was and he said, he's out looking for you. It was 8:15. I call Lance. I am, of course, hysterical. I am sure he's drowned.
Lance is on his way back, when Josh and I open the front door and Baxter, our little yorkie convict, runs out the front door in his ususal "chase me!" game.
I am ready to back over him with the car.
Josh takes control over Baxter, sending me back to the lake with a flashlight. I go back to the lake, park my car at the recreation center, jump out with this stupid shake flashlight - that works by excessive shaking - frantically shaking this thing that blips on and off. I run towards the spot where Marley went in.
And there he is.
With his head down in a determined, exhausted state, absolutely drenched. Marley never gets his head wet when we take him swimming. Even at the beach. But there he was, saturated.
I cannot express my relief.
I pick him up, put him in the back of my car and called Lance. As I was driving I see Josh running with no shoes, no shirt, just shorts as fast as he can towards the lake. I pick him up. I call Cody. I think he is home. He tells me that he has been at the lake. I pick him up. Lance meets up with us at the house. Lance came home with the other dogs and at almost 7:30, and fifteen minutes later, they began to worry. Especially Cody, since he is the one that is always thinking about what might happen, what could happen. He is the one that is so aware of his surroundings, mother henning his brother, telling me that his cousin shouldn't run so far ahead on a city street in San Francisco (where she lives!) because she could be abducted. He also believed that if anything happened to me, it would have been his fault, since I has asked him to take Marley for a walk and he had declined. Seeing me bust through the door was a huge relief to him that was desperately short lived.
It's always so shocking how much you love your family. Especially the non-humans. They hang around, eating, drinking loudly, peeing and pooing inappropriately, needing care, attention, brushing, baths, shots and walks. They often take a disproportionate amount of space on the bed or couch for their size. They always seem to need affection at the worse possible moment. As they age, you nonchalantly entertain the notion of their demise.
But when something happens to them, everything changes. Suddenly the remembrance of that wonderful dog that came into my life just after separating from my ex came flooding in. How he immediately took control over the care and supervision of my two little toddler boys. How it eased my family's sense of security, knowing that Marley was there protecting us. How funny he could be, how fun he was to play with. How he loved to play catch as long as I threw the ball, he got it and then I chased him around trying to get it. Toying with me, flipping it over his head, and then with is butt up in the air, dropping the ball and looking at me as if to say "come on. it's right here. come get it." How he let those boys do anything to him. How he played the alligator in their imaginary game of castle on their fort in the backyard. How he would playfully try to get up the slide to their squeals of delight. How protective he was of me and the boys. How he hated men, but fell in love with Lance. How much he loves being in the water, swimming. All the memories that have Marley as an instrinsic part of my family. All of my animals hold that place. All of them are part of a puzzle that is incomplete without them. We all hugged and stroked Marley more last night than we have in ages.
I hope this doesn't give him any ideas...
Yesterday was a beautiful day. I have to agree with my eldest son, autumn is a great time of year. The heat broke and we had a cool, clear day. After dinner, my husband took the three younger dogs out for a walk. I asked my younger son if he would take Marley, our fourteen year old shepard collie mix out for a short walk. He has arthritis and he had been on a fairly long walk that morning, so a short one was all he needed.
My youngest declined.
I slipped on my flip flops, got the leash and headed out for a short leisurely walk around the neighborhood.
It really just was perfect weather. It was just after 7, a cool mid-70's. We walked around observing neighbors playing basketball, playing in the yard and street, pulling weeds, riding bikes.
Marley was happy.
I was happy.
Before I even thought about it, we were at the lake. This is a big lake in the middle of the subdivision. There are ducks and geese and kingfishers...yes kingfishers, herons, egrets, all kinds of beautiful water fowl. I thought - it's just him and me. He loves to swim. It'll help his arthritis. So, I let him off the leash, he went down to the water's edge and eased in, with the most content dog face ever. I sat on the incline, watching him paddling after the birds, in a general sense of peace and quiet and calm, only broken periodically by the calling of the birds and the splattering of wings and water as they ran across the top to avoid the approaching beast. The sun was slowly sinking behind the trees.
It was just beautiful.
He swam.
Fifteen minutes passed.
He swam.
Thirty.
He's still swimming.
Now this dog is, what, ninety eight in people years? Thirty minutes of continuous swimming? More than enough, I would think.
I start calling.
Marley's hearing is not what it used to be.
It is definitely a lot more selective.
People come and go.
With their dogs.
On leashes.
On dry land.
I get up and start walking, shadowing him as he swims the length of the lake. Because we are now losing light.
I continue to call him.
Bird calls. Splattering. Marley! Marley!
Nothing. The dog is on a mission. A mission to ignore me and to get one of these blasted birds.
He turns back into the direction from whence he came, and I feel myself release a little.
Good.
He's finally had enough. I turn back and keep pace with him on the shore. But the light is seriously fading now. He is chasing black birds now, the kind that spend a lot of time underwater. His head is, of course, black. I can barely see him across the water.
And then he disappears into a shadow.
I am about two hundred yards away from where we started. I cannot see him at all.
I walk briskly back to the incline where we started this fiasco, and I squat down and squint across the water. It is seriously dark now. And the mosquitoes are out in swarms.
What's worse is all the activity amongst the birds in the water, the calling, the splattering, gone. Total quiet.
They are completely calm.
I see a bird figure swimming into the shadow where I believe Marley to be.
I wait.
It swims out the other side, calmly with nothing following.
I panic.
I run as fast as I can - damn flipflops! - back to my house, all the while trying to figure out exactly what I am going to do when I get there. As soon as I bust through the door, I burst into tears.
I can't find Marley! He was in the water and I couldn't see him anymore! He's gone! I can't find him!
Josh on the coach in the front room doing homework, leaps to his feet. Cody is a blur. I thought he ran upstairs to get something, but it turns out that he ran straight out the front door. He ran a full speed all the way to the lake as he heard "Marley" "water".
Josh got a flashlight. I asked where Lance was and he said, he's out looking for you. It was 8:15. I call Lance. I am, of course, hysterical. I am sure he's drowned.
Lance is on his way back, when Josh and I open the front door and Baxter, our little yorkie convict, runs out the front door in his ususal "chase me!" game.
I am ready to back over him with the car.
Josh takes control over Baxter, sending me back to the lake with a flashlight. I go back to the lake, park my car at the recreation center, jump out with this stupid shake flashlight - that works by excessive shaking - frantically shaking this thing that blips on and off. I run towards the spot where Marley went in.
And there he is.
With his head down in a determined, exhausted state, absolutely drenched. Marley never gets his head wet when we take him swimming. Even at the beach. But there he was, saturated.
I cannot express my relief.
I pick him up, put him in the back of my car and called Lance. As I was driving I see Josh running with no shoes, no shirt, just shorts as fast as he can towards the lake. I pick him up. I call Cody. I think he is home. He tells me that he has been at the lake. I pick him up. Lance meets up with us at the house. Lance came home with the other dogs and at almost 7:30, and fifteen minutes later, they began to worry. Especially Cody, since he is the one that is always thinking about what might happen, what could happen. He is the one that is so aware of his surroundings, mother henning his brother, telling me that his cousin shouldn't run so far ahead on a city street in San Francisco (where she lives!) because she could be abducted. He also believed that if anything happened to me, it would have been his fault, since I has asked him to take Marley for a walk and he had declined. Seeing me bust through the door was a huge relief to him that was desperately short lived.
It's always so shocking how much you love your family. Especially the non-humans. They hang around, eating, drinking loudly, peeing and pooing inappropriately, needing care, attention, brushing, baths, shots and walks. They often take a disproportionate amount of space on the bed or couch for their size. They always seem to need affection at the worse possible moment. As they age, you nonchalantly entertain the notion of their demise.
But when something happens to them, everything changes. Suddenly the remembrance of that wonderful dog that came into my life just after separating from my ex came flooding in. How he immediately took control over the care and supervision of my two little toddler boys. How it eased my family's sense of security, knowing that Marley was there protecting us. How funny he could be, how fun he was to play with. How he loved to play catch as long as I threw the ball, he got it and then I chased him around trying to get it. Toying with me, flipping it over his head, and then with is butt up in the air, dropping the ball and looking at me as if to say "come on. it's right here. come get it." How he let those boys do anything to him. How he played the alligator in their imaginary game of castle on their fort in the backyard. How he would playfully try to get up the slide to their squeals of delight. How protective he was of me and the boys. How he hated men, but fell in love with Lance. How much he loves being in the water, swimming. All the memories that have Marley as an instrinsic part of my family. All of my animals hold that place. All of them are part of a puzzle that is incomplete without them. We all hugged and stroked Marley more last night than we have in ages.
I hope this doesn't give him any ideas...
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