A Dog Tale

A Dog Tale

So I’m old. I admit it. Really old. Ninety seven, give or take. I look it too—white grizzled muzzle, filmy eyes, warts, gimpy gait. Can’t hear a damn thing either. Or chew my food. But what’s worse? Losing my mind.

Sometimes I’ll walk to my water bowl and just stare at it then walk away, or I’ll poke my head in my little house, sniff, and wonder who slept there. Or I’ll forget my legs hurt and jump around like a fool kid until my hip twists or my foot slips and I have to lay down in the dirt. Sometimes I’ll wander in circles looking for the trail where I’ve always done my business and can’t find it. So what do I do? You guessed it. How humiliating. So I’ll crawl under the lilac bush and stay there the rest of the day.

Ahhh, the lilac bush, one of my favorite places. Sweet shade in the springtime. The ground is soft and cool, soothing for these old bones, and far enough from the big house that no one bothers my naps, one of my favorite activities.

That’s another thing about getting old. I sleep most of the time, like the dead. Lawnmower, chainsaw, thunder—nothing wakes me. Used to be a coyote yip a mile off would startle me awake, put me on guard. A car on the gravel driveway would set off a flurry of barks. Even Cat tiptoeing past my food bowl would wake me from my deepest slumber. Not anymore. Give me a spot in the shade, nestled under low hanging branches and I’m good for an all-day nap.

Lately, however, it’s been too hot to sleep away the day. Cat naps only, I hate to say. The summer sun bakes every nook and cranny, and all I can do is sprawl and pant, tongue dragging in the dirt. Nothing helps—damp grass, concrete, not even nighttime when the heat settles on the ground like a shroud. During the day the sun burns my feet like the stings from a swarm of bees. My face is a furnace, my fur on fire. Can’t eat, can barely move or breathe.

Several times my humans have thought I was dead, shook me from my stupor, tried to tempt me with beef fat, chicken gravy, cream cheese. They meant well, but I preferred to suffer alone. So I’d thump my tail a couple of times and they’d scratch my aching rump and let me go back to sleep.

Until yesterday. The hot wind howled, ruffling my fur and flapping my ears. The lilac branches whipping in the scorching gusts poked my ribs. I sat up, not easy mind you, and sniffed. Smoke. Not the lazy tendrils from an autumn bonfire but eye-watering, throat-choking smoke.

I hobbled toward the stink, raised my snout as high as I could and saw movement overhead. Large shiny birds skimmed the treetops, so low I could feel the vibrations. Something wasn’t right. Through the haze beyond the faint outline of trees, the sky glowed red.

I turned just in time to see the big vehicle racing out the driveway, billows of dust mixing with the smoke. I watched until it disappeared around the corner then I limped back to my nest under the lilacs, nose on alert, and waited.

The smoke thickened, coating my fur like a dirty blanket. It was hard to breathe—my tongue felt like a fat slab of dried ham. So I stumbled stiff legged across the yard, resting every few steps, to my water bowl. Sweet water. A dog’s dream on a hot day.

I drank and drank, the cool water soothing my throat, until the bowl was dry, then I moved to the porch stairs, took one slow painful step, then another and another. Rested at the top before hobbling to my food bowl. Not much there except some hard kibbles and a few chicken scraps on top attracting a frenzy of hornets. I snapped at them which made them madder. One stung the corner of my eye; another inside my lip. Once I nibbled the chicken, they left. By then my eye and mouth were swollen. Feeling sorry for myself, I lay down in front of the door to the big house, looking in through the window.

No movement. I waited. No light. No sound. I pressed my nose against the cool glass, then my paw, whimpered, waited some more. No one came. Except Cat, who sniffed my kibbles, touched his nose to mine and sauntered off, tail swishing. Chin on paws, I waited. Alone.

Big mistake. I woke up with Cat curled on my back, a hot red sun baking the porch, smoke stinging my eyes and throat. I stared though the glass, looking for movement. None.

It took forever to stand up, my joints stiff and sore from sleeping on the hard porch boards. Cat didn’t help, digging his claws into my back before rolling off in a heap, knocking over my food bowl and scattering my food like marbles. I ate a few, swallowing them whole.

I looked into the big house again, saw nothing but an empty room. Pain shot up my legs into my hips as I slowly stepped off the porch and headed to the lilac tree.

I didn’t sleep much. Mostly sniffed, watched the large birds move back and forth overhead, their wings creating a wind in the upper branches. Sometimes I would bark and bark until I became hoarse, hoping my humans would appear. They never did.

Late in the day, throat parched, I doddered to my water bowl, found it empty, tried to remember another place where I could get a drink. I wandered around the yard until I found the fish pond, slurped up long strings of algae under the lily pads. Nasty stuff.

Too tired to return to the lilac, I found a grassy patch of shade under a maple. I slept until dawn when I was awakened by a cool breeze and spatters of raindrops on my head. Lifting my nose, I sniffed. No smoke, just damp ash like a bonfire pit after a storm.

The next time I woke up hands were prodding my swollen eye and lip, patting my sore hip, scratching my grumbling stomach and clawed back. I thumped my tail a few times until they left me alone, again.