I havent talked about my senior dog, Rupert, for a while. Hes living with my dad out in the country, but I get to see him about once a month. Hes completely happy living with my dad, and far more comfortable there than at my house.
Rupe likes to follow his favorite people like a shadow, which has gotten somewhat problematic in his creaky old age. Our last visit to the Veterinary Medical Teaching Hospital at the University of California at Davis pinpointed the source of Ruperts declining mobility as his knees, whose ligaments were frankly described as blown out. At 14 years old, with cardiac arrhythmia, high blood pressure, and failing kidneys, hes not a candidate for surgery. As my dad says, Once he gets up, he gets around. Just like me!
When I first sent Rupe to stay with my dad, I saw it as a temporary deal. My mom had just passed away, and I knew my dad would benefit from Ruperts constant offer of love and attention. But Rupe has benefitted from the arrangement as well.
At my house, my office is down a flight of stairs, and Im up and down the stairs all day. This left poor Rupie either standing and staring, disconsolate, at my office door (hes also pretty deaf, and his vision is not all that great, either), staggering up the stairs, or coming down them in a more or less controlled fall.
My dads house doesnt have even a single step. Plus, my dad is retired, which gives him lots of time to pet a deserving dog. Plus, when Rupe goes outside, there are sticks absolutely everywhere not a surprise, as my dad lives in the woods, but it makes Rupies heart sing to find crunchable toys everywhere he turns.
Rupert is happy to see me when I show up at my dads house for a visit, and he whimpers excitedly as he greets me, tail wagging and eyes shining. But I notice that he doesnt follow me every time I go outside; he only makes the effort to get up and go out when Dad goes out. And at bedtime, he sleeps at the foot of my dads bed, not on my sleeping bag with me on the floor of the living room, like he used to when we would visit.
On the other hand, Dad says that Rupe would absolutely not allow him to undertake all the grooming that I perform on the furry old dog every time Im there. I give Rupe a bath, pick the foxtails out from between his toes, clean his ears, cut his nails, and check the current size and location of all his fatty tumors. He looks like a star when Im done, and smells and feels so good I cant help but kiss his shining head again and again.
I dont know if Rupert will make it through one more winter; well see. For now, hes in the best possible place, and even though I miss him, Im happy hes happy.
-Nancy Kerns
