Columns 2006

I am not torturing my dog

My miniature schnauzer, Mr. T, has reached the ripe old age of 16 1/2 years old with no more or less in the way of problems that most of us would have at the equivalent human age.  Granted I spend more for his medicine in a month that for mine. And yes, neither one of us moves as fast as we once did.  But all things considered, he’s not doing badly at all.

When we take our daily walk, he moves slowly. Usually he is behind me at the end of the leash taking his time about the whole thing.  Because he suffers from senility, part of the slowness is that he forgets where he is about every five minutes and stops dead in his tracks while he tries to remember. When I turn to look at him quizzically to see what the problem is, he immediately sticks his head into the nearest clump of grass as though he’d meant to stand there sniffing all along. 

When days are hot and we are going uphill, he stops to sniff things a lot.  It’s his way of taking a break and catching his breath.  And when he sees another dog while we are walking, he comes to life as though he were six instead of sixteen. This same dog who can neither see nor hear me when I am five feet away from him at home suddenly can see and hear the distance of a city block or better if another dog is involved.  I guess motivation makes a big difference.

Mr. T’s day is centered around his walk. He gets up in the morning, has his pills and chicken and then goes back to sleep so that he will have the strength to get up for lunch.  Then he takes another nap until it’s time for his walk.  No matter how hard he’s sleeping, sometime between 1PM and 3PM every day he can be found at the side of my office chair looking at me and whimpering softly.  He will sit there and annoy the holy heck out of me until I give up, grab the leash and take him out.

Upon returning from his walk, he gets his chicken jerky and then goes back to his interrupted afternoon nap which he needs to build strength for his evening meal and nap which he needs to build strength for his night’s sleep. All of this is done on any number of soft dog beds scattered through the house so that he never has to waste his precious naptime on climbing stairs. He can just flop wherever his last food intake occurred and know he will hit a bed.

At night when I put him out for the last time, I carry him from his bed down the stairs and outside where I place him gently on the ground. Once he has finished his nightly moment, I pick him up and carry him back to his bed with a stop at the water dish for a last drink.

I tell you all this because I want people to understand that there is no place in this world or any alternative universe in which Mr. T would be considered abused in any way.  I daresay most Third World families would be thrilled to live a life half as good.  So when you see me walking him and he is lollygagging behind me and limping, I am not torturing him.  The walk is his idea.  He always limps with or without his pain med.

And in the winter, when you see me all bundled up in my winter parka and he is behind me with no coat or doggie shoes, it is not because I am being mean.  I’d like him to dress warmly.  I have at least three doggie coats at home that I try to put him in each time we walk.  He reacts very badly to this.  He is an Arctic dog and feels a coat is just insulting.

And god help me if I try to get him in the booties.  Have you ever seen a dog walk stiff legged and hysterical while shaking his paws frantically?  Well, put that picture in your head with an old dog who really can’t balance on three legs anymore and you have some idea of the scene in my house when I get anywhere near his feet with booties.

I thank all the people of Anchorage who care enough about animals to be concerned about Mr. T when they see us walking together.  But I must admit that I am getting very nervous that people are going to send the animal police to my house because they think Mr. T is not being treated well.  Believe me, he is. 

In fact, the only goal I have left in life is to convince my family to treat me as well as I treat Mr. T when I’m old and decrepit.  Until then, we’ll continue to take walks together and enjoy the time we have left in the way he loves best – walking through his neighborhood protecting his stuff from every real and imagined threat a dog’s mind can conjure up when goofy on pain pills.