I’m nine years old. I think that means something to humans, to me it’s just another day of not being able to move as fast as I used to. I hear him tell his friends, “He’s nine, slowing down a little, but still chomping at the bit to hunt.”
He’s right about my wanting to hunt, it’s something I can’t help. It’s like my brain is programed to make me put my nose to the ground and follow something that smells interesting; a scent, he calls it.
It’s getting toward the time of year when things begin to get ripe. Grass isn’t as fresh as it was last month; ferns are thinning out and the groundcover is easier to get through. I think this is where the “nine years” come in. I never used to think about how thick groundcover was, I just used to follow my nose. But lately, if I can follow my nose without getting scraped and scratched …well, as long as I find what I’m looking for. Grouse season, he calls it.
Days are cooler now, but it takes longer it to get light. Humans have this thing about waiting for it to get light before they go outside, they don’t seem to realize I have to pee no matter what it’s like outside at six …something he should know something about since he’s up at four doing the same thing.
I’ve known him my whole life, at least as far back as I can remember, and he’s come a long way. He’s given up on my not jumping on his bed after he turns the lights out and, as long as there aren’t any strangers in the room, he doesn’t say much when I jump up on a chair to look out of the window. Though to this day, he still tells people how he chose me over my brothers and sisters that day a long time ago. He still hasn’t figured out that I chose him.
He has figured out which food I like best, and gotten used to making one extra rash of bacon in the morning. I can even hurry him up when he sits, sipping coffee while I’m waiting for him to start the bacon. I seem to have an effect on him just by sitting in front of him, looking him straight in the eye with my head tilted to one side, ears slightly perked. He tries not to let it affect him, but before long, he’s up, taking the bacon out of the refrigerator.
As I look back, I could write a book about my nine years with him. On second thought, why make him feel bad …he hasn’t been the fasted learner.
TD
What a great post in honor of our furry family members. Wouldn’t trade them for anything! Way to go Seamus!!!
Thanks Marianne
Love the perspective Terry. Really enjoyed it. Wonder what he’d have to say about “She who must be obeyed”?
Probably that she’s stingy with the bacon.
Enjoyable read, Terry (er, uh “Seamus”?). There’s nothing better than the friendship between a dog and its owner.