Keeping My Priorities Straight

Every morning these days I wake up and hustle my 14½ year old Dalmatian, Prince, outside to relieve himself as quickly as I can. That involves rousting him from a deep slumber and hauling his back end up the steps. He wears a diaper at night since a bladder infection about a year ago left him occasionally incontinent and he usually urinates before we get out the door. Once he’s up and about for the day, it’s less of a problem as long as I take him out every few hours. Along with the incontinence, he has nerve degeneration in his hips. Not displasia, I’m told, but just wearing out at his advanced age and likely contributing to his incontinence.

Dalmatians have a normal life expectancy of 12 years or so. The combination of size–Prince is mid-size, about 55 pounds–and pure breed does not make for a long lived dog. Prince is definitely beating the odds; he’ll turn 15 in June and is now the second oldest dog I’ve ever had. All the others were mixed breeds. My oldest dog, a lab-Irish setter-German shepherd-spaniel mix, lived 15½ years, so Prince is well advanced in age for his breed. Aside from the incontinence and hip degeneration, he’s doing pretty well for such an old dog. He mostly just sleeps, often curled up in a chair beside my desk.

His age and deterioration are more of an issue for me. Prince doesn’t seem to notice or care much. He no longer wants to walk very far with me and, given his hip problems, that’s probably wise decision. But I miss the walks and the explosive energy he’s had for much of his life. The five years I spent living on the Navajo Reservation created a special bond between us. Two dogs moved there with us but the older one died within the first year, leaving Prince as the only dog in the household. We spent much time together, walking in the airport area where I lived. He had plenty of space to run, run, run.

And run he did. I clocked him at 13 mph on the runway one time when I rode my bike alongside him. His form was amazing to watch–a graceful, easy stride that looked so effortless. I, on the other hand, was pedaling hard to keep up. As usual for an energetic dog, Prince covered about twice the distance that I did when we walked, ranging across the vast open space between the runway and fence. He occasionally returned with sheep bones dropped by ravens who’d been scavenging in adjacent homes. He once came back with the lower half of a prairie dog and another time covered with skunk spray.

Prince stopped running after about a year on the Rez. He was still pretty active; he just didn’t explode across the space the way he did at first. If he was on a leash, he still pulled unless I made a real effort to put him on heel. The change was a first reminder that this dog was mortal. Of course, I knew that all along, but didn’t want to think about it. That was about eight years ago. These days, I am constantly aware of his mortality. I try not to dwell on it but the changes are so obvious–the drawn face, loss of muscle mass and the ever weakening back end. Little can be done to change this. Prince’s life is what it will be. Accepting that is just part of life.

What amazes me is that for all of his old age and infirmities, Prince can still be quite energized. Food is a particular source of energy. He’s always danced for his dinner but these days he is manic about food, following right behind me in the kitchen, so close that I must barricade him out of the kitchen to prepare meals. I think his food circuit is permanently switched on. If he wants to he can bound into a chair with as much energy as ever. When our neighbor who often brings dog biscuits walks by the window, Prince is barking and agitated, expecting a treat from the man he sees as an alternate Food God. He’s far from death, even if his remaining days dwindle.

I don’t want to sound morbid but I am preparing myself for Prince’s death. I can do the numbers. My preparations mainly involve petting, thanking him for his company and caring for him as his condition requires. It means not upsetting myself about the difficulties an increasingly infirm dog presents. I’ve always hoped that my dogs would pass away quietly in their sleep but that’s not happened yet. If the time comes that I must make a decision, I know I will. I just don’t look forward to it.

Thinking about this is nothing new. I wrote how dogs remind me of mortality about a year ago. My point then, as now, is that everyone’s time on this planet is limited. Whatever may lie beyond death is unknown. I don’t know if I will see Prince, my partner, Maggie, or any others who have been so important to me throughout my life. That’s why I make an effort to reach out to those people as much as I can. And just because I am a human being with a long life span is no guarantee that I will outlive even my elderly dog. So I’ll be telling my partner and friends how much I love and appreciate them.

And petting my dog.