The Selfish Hours

Tux turns fourteen this November.

We adopted him when he was 1.5 years old in February 2014 from a rescue in Red Deer. I’ve had him for almost all of his life, but not entirely. There was a chapter before us that I don’t know much about, and then the twelve and half years that I know very well.

This past year or so, I’ve started noticing small changes in him. He doesn’t hear as well as he used to. I’ll call his name across the room and he won’t move, not even a flick of an ear until I go and place my hand on him and then he’ll turn to look at me. He does hear some things though, mostly loud or high pitch noises. I hope he can still hear my voice sometimes though. He’s also got cataracts now too, and in the dim light in the evenings I can tell he’s not entirely confident in seeing where he is going. He stopped jumping up onto the bed at night, which worried me at first, until I realized he still jumps up fine during the day. Its not that he can’t do it anymore, its more that in the dark, he isn’t sure that its safe to try.

None of this happened all at once. It crept up slowly in the ways that these things tend to do. A little slower on the walks, a little more time snoozing every day, a little less certain about the world in low light, until one day I noticed all the small changes and realized that I don’t have that many more years with him by my side.

This realization makes me sad. But then I realized that I now have a special opportunity to make the most of whatever time we have left. I have all these new hours now that I used to spend at a job that now belong to me again. A lot of these hours are going to go to Tux without my even planning it that way. My new routine is to wake up the morning, take the dogs out for walk, then grab my coffee or tea and head out onto the back deck where we get shade until about 11:30 in the morning. I sit in my rocking chair with my book, and Tux lies stretched out on the footrest in front of me, enjoying the breeze and being beside me. He doesn’t need much from me in these moments, just to be nearby.

Its a privilege to be able to take care of the dog you love in his senior years. I wish he could be with me forever, but unfortunately I know that this is not possible. Instead, I will be deliberate about making whatever time that is left count. To notice the small details like what his weight feels like when he’s pressed against my legs at night, how he does his own downward dog when I do my stretching in the mornings, or how he looks at me when he is genuinely content. And to spend more mornings on the deck. More time where he is near me and I’m near him with neither of us in a hurry to be anywhere else.

He’s slower now, but so am I. In a good way. The way where I finally have the time to just sit with him and take it all in.