An Old Dog's Lament

Why do they talk baby talk to me? Okay, I could understand it when I was a puppy but I’m 12. That’s 84 in their years. My people talk normally to each other, but their voices change, and their vocabulary becomes infantile when they address me. It’s does little Lila want a treat? Or can you give me your paw, sit or speak? Of course, I can sit but I’m an old lady. It takes time. I can speak but in a foreign language. Pici and Kaya, my buddies understand me, but the only time my people do is when I try to get their attention. It’s time related. They know what my barks at mealtime and walk time mean. “Hey, don’t forget about me.” Sometimes they get busy, and meals and walks are late. I get it. They have busy lives, but I do too although I have to admit in my old age, I sleep a lot. During the day, I travel from dog pillow to dog pillow. I have two. They’re big and cushy. I am a big dog, so I need plenty of room and padding. My parents were a Staffordshire Terrier and Great Dane. It explains my size and temperament. Yeah, I know. You think I have some Pitbull in me so I must have some vicious tendencies. Just ask any of my people or anyone who has met me. I am mellow and sweet. I hear it all the time.

I used to share my bed with Bob the cat. I admit he bullied me. Early on in my puppy years, he made sure I knew he was the alpha animal in the house. He took over both of my beds and would just allow me space for my paws. My people thought it was cute, but it humiliated me. After all, I was the dog, and he was the cat. I weighed a hundred pounds, and he was a big ball of gray fluff but only twenty pounds. He’s not around anymore. One day he was asleep on the kitchen floor and the next he was gone forever. I admit I miss him. We used to hang around during the day and sometimes share treats. My master would pour some milk on the floor and Bob would let me lick up some if there was a separate pool for me. I learned quickly not to touch any of his little pool. My snout still has the scars from his swipes. Yeow that hurt. His claws were sharp! Sometimes, he’d bring home birds and squirrels and he’d let me have the leftovers. I thought he was being generous. My people thought he was disgusting.

Since Bob left, all their attention has been focused on me. I’m not sure I like it. The pets are fine. I particularly like them scratching my butt since I can’t reach it. The other stuff, not so much. Sure, I can do all my tricks for a treat but who are they fooling? They’re going to give it to me anyway. I know they think they’re giving me a treat when they give me their empty peanut butter and yogurt containers. But I know they just want me to lick it clean, so they don’t have to wash them. I’m on to them. They complain when I hang around the kitchen table, looking for scraps. Yet, when something drops on the floor, it’s “Don’t worry, Lila will get it!”. How hypocritical! I’m smarter than they think.

I love my walks and I used to love chasing squirrels but I’m an old lady now. I just want to sniff. My hips hurt too much to walk far. Another dog’s fragrance can make my day. They should let me stop and sniff every few feet rather than keep pulling me along. My people can’t possibly know how I’m transported to heaven with each sniff stop. They’re so impatient. Also, what’s wrong with eating dog or horse poop? They’re organic. I hear my mistress talk about only buying and eating organic so I would think she would support my culinary preferences. I eat dry kibble day in and day out. Poop gives me variety.

Lately my legs keep giving out on the slippery tile in the house. I’m afraid to step anywhere there isn’t a carpet. My master often says ‘aging is for sissies’. If he only knew. I hear them complain about my whimpering at night. Let them feel the pain I have and wag their tail and smile. Sure, I have my days where the smells, poop and pets make me forget that I’m always in pain. I wag my tail and nuzzle between their legs. It makes them happy, and I love to please them. After all, we dogs were put on this earth to do just that. I still have many good days but I’m beginning to think it’s because of pills they sneak into my food. They think I don’t see them camouflage the pills. I’m smarter than that. They used to do the same with Bob the cat before he left. I used to spit the pills out when they weren’t looking. Now that I realize that I feel better on the days I swallow the pills, I scarf them down with the kibble. Those are the days that my tail is wagging, and I may even chase a ball or two. I don’t know what I’m going to do when the pills stop working. I hear my people talking about putting me down in the future. I’m not sure what that means but I have my suspicions. Bob was blind and scrawny when he went away. It would be terrible if I couldn’t see, smell or go for my walks. Even worse, Bob began to pee and poop in corners of the house. I think he was incontinent. He was such a fastidious cat, it must have been humiliating. If I ever am in that state, put me down or send me away. I suspect my time is coming soon. In the meantime, I will continue to please, wag my tail, do my tricks and sleep most of the days.

All it takes is a few sniffs, butt rubs and atta girls, to cheer me up. I wish I could say the same for my mistress. She lost her daughter and never recovered. I try my best to cheer her up with nudges, goofy looks and bursts of energy. Sometimes, I even rally and drop my tennis ball at her feet. She used to love playing throw and fetch with me. Now, she may throw it once but doesn’t seem interested in the game. I must admit I’m somewhat relieved because these old hips just take the joy out of running. Still, I’m sad that my mistress can’t share the joy we had together years ago. Poor woman, I think she’s only six in dog years and yet she talks of putting herself down. She has good hips, isn’t blind or incontinent so she shouldn’t be thinking like that. My master does all the right things to make her feel better. He rubs her back, brings her dinner and gives her a lot of atta girls. None of it seems to work. I never had puppies, so I don’t know what it’s like to lose one. Maybe if I had, I’d be more understanding. All I can do now is stay close by and be cute. It’s one talent I’ve never lost. Anytime I want something, I just turn on the charm. My floppy ears, toothy smile and white heart markings on my head have always been a hit. Despite my age, I’ve maintained my black girlish figure. The little wiggle I have when I walk drives the male dogs crazy but I’m still a virgin.

When the daughter died, we left the city for the countryside. It made me feel young again for months. There were new smells and places to poop and pee. My mistress rallied for a few months, and we even played throw and fetch. It didn’t last. Now just like me, my mistress lays around all day. She forgets to feed and walk me. My master has taken over all those duties. I try all my cutest tricks and faces but can’t pull her out of her funk. I’d say she lives a dog’s life but without the joy. I’m afraid one day, I’ll find on the kitchen floor sleeping like Bob before he went away. In the meantime, I’ll continue to be as cute and pleasing as I can. Despite my age and hips, I can still rally when I have to. After all, that’s my role in this world and I will play it until the end.