Driving home from work the other evening, I saw what looked to me to be ‘the four ages of dog.’ Glacially-slow temporary traffic lights meant that for once I had the time to watch the parade.
It was a beautiful summer evening, one of the few we’ve had this year in the UK, and it was prime ‘after work but just before dinner’ dog walking time. With two reactive dogs, we learned a long time ago to avoid those peak times but it’s always lovely to see the neighbourhood dogs out enjoying their evening stroll.
The four ages of ‘dog’
Alternatively bounding around in circles, chewing its lead and then sitting down and refusing to budge, was a golden Labrador puppy. Behind them, I saw a young husky towing the beefy-looking chap on the other end of the lead in his wake.
Then there was my neighbour with her cool as a cucumber Pointer who was loping at her side and stopping every now and again to sniff and lift his leg. But then suddenly there was a lump in my throat, because the next dog I saw was a very elderly chocolate Labrador. Unlike the other dogs, he trailed about 10 ft behind his people, who were so deep in conversation that they seemed almost to have forgotten why they were out.
His tongue lolled out of his grey muzzle, his gait bore the tell-tale signs of arthritis and he looked like every step was a decision. When he stopped, sometimes to sniff but other times just it seemed to rest, his people turned and called him on. He’d break into an awkward jog to join them but within seconds they had outpaced him again and he was left watching their backs and then hurrying once again to catch up.
We spend so long teaching our puppies and young dogs to walk to heel – to walk with us. I think the very least we can do in their dotage is to remain by their sides – just as they did for us.
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