Jacky D and Me...
Last night my husband and I watched Marley & Me. Frankly, the movie sucked...from what I understand, the book is better. In any case, as if it's any big secret, the dog dies at the end. We cried. He was a BAD Dawg....but at the end not so much and it always is Horrible to lose your dog so there was crying...some of it because we endured 1 hour of CRAP to get to anything good, but mostly because it sucks to have to put your dog down.
Jack is, at 16.5 and 45 pounds, WELL over 100 in "human years". He has, mostly, been a GOOD Dawg. If he had an "accident" it was always by the door--he wanted to go outside like he is supposed to, but the lack of opposable thumbs for the doorknob kept him trapped.
He's OLD--not just "old" but OLD-ALL-CAPS. He does "The Horsey"...he poops as he walks along...
he doesn't even know he is doing it.
"LOOK what you did!"
"Ohhh...I didn't...*sniff sniff*...OHHHHH I DID...I did NOT mean to do that! HOW did that happen?"
We don't point it out to him any more. He is ashamed. He doesn't do it on purpose and scolding him is like admonishing Grandpa for wearing Depends. Today I have stepped BAREFOOT in poop TWICE...without ever leaving the comfort of my nice warm house.
There is the senility. As I said before, this dog was HOUSEBROKEN--he would rather have urine stream out his ears than pee inside the house....but NOW?
Now he THINKS he is outside and simply starts to pee. I DO say something...usually, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"
Jack responds the way you would expect if you had just slapped a sleepwalker: He shakes his head, looks around and has the expression as if to say, "OH! Sorry! I thought I was somewhere else..." At which point we go to the door together and he finishes his business outside--where he THOUGHT he was in the first place.
He's a GOOD Dawg. Even now, as old and frail as he is, I know he would DIE defending me. He would give his LIFE to save mine...
and so I clean his shit off my foot and carpet, soak up his urine with two beach towels and never say a single word to him. Love goes both ways...and, sincerely, I KNOW that he would do it for me.
Jack is, at 16.5 and 45 pounds, WELL over 100 in "human years". He has, mostly, been a GOOD Dawg. If he had an "accident" it was always by the door--he wanted to go outside like he is supposed to, but the lack of opposable thumbs for the doorknob kept him trapped.
He's OLD--not just "old" but OLD-ALL-CAPS. He does "The Horsey"...he poops as he walks along...
he doesn't even know he is doing it.
"LOOK what you did!"
"Ohhh...I didn't...*sniff sniff*...OHHHHH I DID...I did NOT mean to do that! HOW did that happen?"
We don't point it out to him any more. He is ashamed. He doesn't do it on purpose and scolding him is like admonishing Grandpa for wearing Depends. Today I have stepped BAREFOOT in poop TWICE...without ever leaving the comfort of my nice warm house.
There is the senility. As I said before, this dog was HOUSEBROKEN--he would rather have urine stream out his ears than pee inside the house....but NOW?
Now he THINKS he is outside and simply starts to pee. I DO say something...usually, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"
Jack responds the way you would expect if you had just slapped a sleepwalker: He shakes his head, looks around and has the expression as if to say, "OH! Sorry! I thought I was somewhere else..." At which point we go to the door together and he finishes his business outside--where he THOUGHT he was in the first place.
He's a GOOD Dawg. Even now, as old and frail as he is, I know he would DIE defending me. He would give his LIFE to save mine...
and so I clean his shit off my foot and carpet, soak up his urine with two beach towels and never say a single word to him. Love goes both ways...and, sincerely, I KNOW that he would do it for me.