This July he will be 13. That is 91 in people years. I hope I live to be that old.
But like humans, old age is taking its toll on him. He does little more than eat, sleep, shed and poop now-a-days. I swear he can’t hear us 90% of the time we call his name. He’s can’t see more than 5 feet in front of him, giving the bunnies rule over our yard and crumbs that he was once in charge of cleaning up rule over our floor. He’s had some sort of cold since Christmas, that seems to be immune to antibiotics, and has taken to coughing like it is his last breath at 2am under our bed. His teeth are starting to turn green, his breath has been black for ages and he’s developed some sort of benign growth between two of his toes. This last list will hopefully be corrected soon for the low, low price of $300+ for doggie sedation, dental work and extraction of miscellaneous parts.
In fact, the high priced visit to the vet was supposed to take place yesterday. Instead we spent the day explaining to animal loving people how we lost our dog.
Over the last few months, particularly since the 3am coughing started, we’ve been joking about how maybe Lil’ Rick’s time has run out. We keep throwing money at the Vet and they can’t seem to fix him. He’s never been a talker, so there is no whining or barking to let us know if he is miserable, just more and more sleep. He’s an old man though, so I figure if he wants to sleep 18 hours a day it is his right.
His low key attitude is part of the problem though. We are worn down ourselves. I am just shy of 7 ½ months pregnant, Gracie spends most of her day visiting the terribles of being two and Matt has never been a sound sleeper. Tuesday morning he woke shortly after 3am and could not fall back to sleep, so instead he worked on a white paper due at work. I woke early myself and went into work an hour early, leaving Matt to do daycare drop off on his way into meetings.
*You see, we changed the schedule. The ritual of mornings.*
During his morning outdoor time, Ricky took his time and Gracie decided to have a meltdown, diverting Matt’s attention from the dog to his daughter. Ricky DOES NOT BARK. He just sits outside the back door and stares at you until you let him in. Matt put on coats, gathered lunches and turned off the lights. Lil’ Rick DID NOT BARK. He just sat there looking in the window.
And Matt left.
Rick got tired of waiting and decided to take a walk on the busy, curvy road near our house, with the added bonus of leaving his collar behind. The good Samaritan that almost hit him scooped him up and took him to the vet in town that we don’t use. *we know this now*
Rick got tired of waiting and decided to take a walk on the busy, curvy road near our house, with the added bonus of leaving his collar behind. The good Samaritan that almost hit him scooped him up and took him to the vet in town that we don’t use. *we know this now*
Upon returning home, we realized that we were sans dog. We drove the neighborhood and any major road he might have gotten to, looking for flashes of orange Corgi. We put up dozens of ‘Lost Dog’ signs. We called OUR vet, the local animal shelters and the non-emergency police. Nobody had him.
Yesterday morning, the vet that had him called the animal shelter who immediately called us. Our dog is safe and was warm overnight. Go get him when you can.
Happy Birthday to You.
So now, we have our smelly, blind, deaf, old-man-river-of-a-dog back. I can now go back to waiting for him to die of natural causes, not our inept ability to keep track of creatures that don’t scream at us.
Oh, and here is his picture in case you ever find such smelly, blind, deaf, old-man-river Corgi roaming around your neighborhood. It is probably ours.
And no, we have no plans on getting another animal before Gracie is in college.
