Life Lessons from My Senior Dog
As my dogs have gotten older, the list of things they need—supplements, meds, PT exercises, etc.—has become quite long. It became impossible to keep track of everything, especially when to give which dog what pills and how often. So my partner and I relented and downloaded a project management tool we could use to start tracking everything. There’s a “board” for just the dogs, complete with claims to file for their pet insurance, notes with feeding instructions, and reminders with questions for the vet. When we came up with this solution, we weren’t necessarily excited about it or eager to do it—it just became a necessity when we realized the mental energy required to keep all of the information and pending tasks and schedules in our heads.
Unfortunately, my dogs are at the age where I spend far more time managing their health and care than I do simply enjoying their company. Although maybe that’s too harsh. That’s what it feels like anyways: all day long, I’m thinking about whether Peekaboo’s exercises are helping her regain some mobility back or whether Pogo’s ultrasound appointments should happen at more frequent intervals, and so on. Peekaboo especially has become somewhat frail, and I spend a lot of time worrying about her: can she get up the stairs okay, is her quality of life still good, does she need more mental stimulation, are her GERD medications helping, what if her appetite goes away again?
It’s hard not to worry. She’s my baby. But as I take her out on walks, I realize most of the joy and fun and delight has been replaced by fear and anxiety and concern. I’m watching her gait to make sure she isn’t dragging her feet too much. I’m anticipating obstacles and fall hazards. I’m keeping an eye out for unexpected cars as we slowly make our way across the street, hoping her LED collar makes her visible enough in the dark.
It’s exhausting. And it’s hard not to be overwhelmed by the sadness that comes with the realization that our bond looks different than it used to. Peekaboo’s never been easygoing, per se. She’s always been stubborn and emotionally distant and independent (that is definitely the bloodhound in her). But now that she is older and more frail than she used to be, it’s hard to admit that most of my time with her is spent trying to keep her healthy instead of enjoying the time we have left together. And sometimes, I hate to admit it, I resent her for needing this much care and attention (though it’s very on brand for her). Then, I feel bad for resenting her and try to remind myself that other people would kill to have more time with their dogs.
As I continue to keep her healthy and maximize her quality of life, I’m trying to lean into the paradoxes: I wish I didn’t have to spend so much time and energy and money trying to keep her alive and also healthy and happy at the same time. But I also am grateful that I have the opportunity to do so. I miss the times we shared where it was easier, more fun and carefree. But I also feel privileged to be able to take care of her and to give her the life she deserves.
In other words, I’m sitting with all the emotions of being caregiver and trying to give myself room to feel them all when they show up. But that’s easier said than done of course. As long as she is still here with me, I will do it for as long as I need to. I just need to remember to take care of myself too.
