Bewildered Dog

Meg will be 15 in May. If she was my daughter I would probably get lots of sympathy from people for having to share my life with that alarming species...the teenage female. She is not my daughter though, she is my dog. A now decrepit Border Terrier who has long since given up chasing squirrels, hunting rabbits and digging holes just to see if it is true China is on the other side of the earth.
The first thing we noticed was her eyes clouding over. Old dogs get cataracts, it is a fact and we knew her sight wasn't as good as it used to be.
Then she slowed down and started to cough. A horrid body shaking cough that made her fall over it racked her so hard. That was her heart no longer beating as strongly as it once had. As a result she filled with fluids and her belly distended as if she was pregnant. ( A good trick except she had been spade) A week long course of diuretics and the permanent additon of heart tablets to her routine and she was back fighting fit, tormenting Ted the cat and tearing round the fields for the joy of it.
Then she started to not respond when we called her. Anyone who has lived with a terrier will know the are they past masters of ignoring and there is nothing quite so embarrassing as realizing that a small dog is pretending to be completely oblivious to your existance. This was different, she wasn't doing it out of choice, her hearing had started to deteriorate.
Now she has trouble standing, her hind legs wobble and she has to get them still before she can walk. The 4 steps at the front door often prove too much and she needs to be carried up and down and put outside to answer the call of nature.(Unfortunately sometimes she can't keep her hind legs crossed long enough before we understand she needs to go outside)
Worst of all she is confused. Not the day to day confusion that comes with too many demands being made on limited personal resources. This is the confusion of the old, a fog that envelopes the low ground of the present but clears as one climbs to the higher ground of youthful memories. Meg remembers chasing sqirrels out of the garden and watches the other dogs barking at the raiders in the trees but by the time she remebers to bark they are long gone. Meg knows she should be doing something and enters the room you're in, she stands until her legs tell her it is time to return to her bed and have a lie down, whatever she had planned to do will have to wait a while.
Meg lays at my feet a lot, she likes to know she is not alone. Often she will seek out the others who share this house; dogs, people, the cat, she will use the one sense that time does not seem to dwindle and sniff deeply, taking in the scent of the other being. This reassures her that she has not moved totally into a limbo of lost sensation. Reassured she bumbles off, lost in whatever inner world she occupies.
Life does not make sense for Meg the way it used to, too much information is lost, too little sensory input means she no longer has a clear picture of the day to day passing of the world.
My hope is that she will curl up in her basket one day and pass peacefully to the next life. I pray God will spare me having to decide it is time to give her the peace of Dog Paradise.
Old dogs are a blessing and a curse.
Meg has been a part of our family life since the boys were small. Now they are grown men and Meg is a link to our family history. We can remember where we went on holiday the week before we collected her. Family photographs and personal memories all include a chunky, grizzle, monkey faced bitch.
Caring for her and knowing that at some point the most awful of decisions may have to be made is a burden quietly born. You try not to dwell on it and enjoy what you know is the limited time you have.
No one loves you the way a dog will. No one is as glad to see you when you arrive home from work, no one is as happy to share whatever tidbits you have to offer and no one snuggles you quite as warm on a cold night as a dog. Each one has a distinct personality yet each one is the same in their ability to love unconditionally.
I will miss her when the time comes. She will be buried down the wood I think, near San, another of our dogs who lived to a ripe old age. Hopefully when the time comes he will be there to meet her at the canine equivalent of the Pearly Gates and together they will hunt rabbits, chase squirrels, sleep in the warmest sunbeams and enjoy eternity doing all the things dogs love to do.
Meg is my mascot, she is there while I type, she is there when I watch telly, I trip over when I am in the kitchen and I have to look for her when I'm not sure where she is.
Meg is also my reminder that life moves on. We get older whether we want to or not and there is no use worrying about what I should have done. There is no use wondering about might have beens, now is the time to do, to achieve, to try, to strive. For when I am old, decrepit and confused I don't want a small voice nagging in the back of my brain, reminding me of missed opporunities and a failure to at least have a go. I want my dottage to be as peaceful and as happy as Meg's. For there one thing I know, she may only be a dog to some but she had heart and she had grit ,she was the best terrier she could be and she has no regrets about what her life has been.