Denial

My dog is old.

In dog years, she is approaching 98.

Ninety-eight!

But in regular people years, she is merely 13, and that time has gone way too fast.

The last six months have been a demonstration of her slowing down, and one that I have tried to ignore. The walk that we have taken everyday for years is now a fraction of what it once was. Her legs shake when she stands up, her hips sometimes give out while she walks, and she sleeps A LOT.

I’m living in denial.

Last week, I took her for a walk one night, and she seemed fine. She slowed down a lot as we turned the last corner before home, and then she started walking sideways. I stopped, alarmed, and we rested. After a few moments, we resumed walking, and she was moving sideways again.

Uh-oh.

We carefully made the last few steps to my front door, and she collapsed on the floor.

I was a jerk.

She’s almost 98! I needed to face reality.

But the next morning, Bailey greeted me as I came out of my room, wagging her tail and wanting to walk, per usual. Should I take her? Could she handle walking anymore? I hesitantly put the leash around her neck. This time we moved slowly, gingerly. A few steps in, she seemed to pick up and trotted quickly, the way she used to walk. I matched her pace and we got going.

WOO-HOO!!! LET’S GO!

Bailey was back! We walked the path through the trees and then turned to go back home. About 100 or so feet from our house, she staggered a bit, and then sat down in the street. She was done. We weren’t quite in the middle of the street, but close. A few cars came around the corner and I waved them along. I tried pulling the leash to see if she would walk, but she wouldn’t budge.

Well.

I wondered if I could carry a 73-pound labrador home? I honestly wasn’t sure, so I sat in the road and we just waited together.

Eventually, after several minutes, Bailey got up and we walked S.L.O.W.L.Y. until we reached my front door.

Denial of reality is interesting. I didn’t want to face the fact that my most beloved dog is dying, plain and simple. I’d rather make her walk faster and longer than she’s able so I won’t have to feel sad. Well, I’ve learned something about that—it doesn’t work. Ironically, I was still sad when Bailey’s legs shook so badly she had to stop exactly where she was, even if it meant lying in the road. I felt terribly sad (and guilty!) when she fell in a puddle of exhaustion in my entryway. Living in denial about Bailey’s mortality just made me feel sad NOW, and she’s still here(!), lying down at my feet while I write.

Sigh.

Anyway, I do this with a lot of things in my life. I’m trying to stop it.

I love the truth.

Even when that truth is hurtful, I still love it.

Thanks, Bailey, for teaching me that lesson once again.