Today I learned that Sophie's depressed energy is actually due to a neurological problem affecting her hind quarters. She can manage alright for a while, but time is short: well, shorter than I thought. She's a beautiful dog, a pedigree Boxer with sculpted lines and a highly muscular body and large proud chest. Her markings are perfect: she's tan with a white mane collar, white chest, a perfect stripe up her face and over her head, and white forepaws.
I haven't known her long, just a third of her life, a hair over 2 years. But she has made an impact. For instance, I like the way she strains against the leash with such force I risk shin splints just to keep up. I might as well be a kite when she encounters a certain basset hound in her disfavor. And yet with a pup, she gently nudges it around with her nose. She demands a cup of water mixed in with her kibble and begs at dinner from the edge of the carpet, staring hard to entice us to give her the last few bites. She self-directs play. Up her toy goes into the air and flies across the room or she chases laser lights down the hall, up the wall and into a closet. She's a great companion, sits at my feet as I blog or lays her head on my knee for reading time.
Her body will atrophy as she loses the ability to balance, maneuver, and stand. I can see it already, in her resignation at watching, rather than chasing, neighbor cats sitting out front. Ok, little girl, here's the plan: we're in this together. We will enjoy each other as long as we can and be satisfied with that.
No comments:
Post a Comment