MEASURING
TIME IN DOG YEARS
This morning was one of
those mornings. We didn't have to get up before we
wanted to. There was no school, no jobs, no shows to rush off to; I got to
sleep until 7:45. When I woke up, there was Wynonah, slow to stand up, but
there to greet me as she
has done for over 13 years. She wasn't my first
Welsh Springer, nor is
she my last. She wagged her tail, and sidled over
to the edge of our bed. On impulse, rather than simply pet her, say good
morning, which she may
or may not hear, and let her and the other dogs out,
as I do each morning;
I lifted her onto our bed. She promptly burrowed
into the pillows, like
all the Welsh I have ever had the opportunity to
share my home with. She rolled from side to side, nuzzling the pillows,
and sliding her nose endlessly
into their feathery softness. Rich woke up
and rolled over to snuggle
and pet her. I had to ask him to move her over
to allow me enough room
to lie back down in my own bed. As I watched, I
began to cry.
All right, I am one heck
of an emotional person. But it made me think,
think about 13 years and
more. Wynonah is older than either of my
children. She was there before we bought our first house, long before this
one burned down and we
re-built. She watched our daughter learn to walk,
and followed her closely,
no matter where we were, to make sure she was not
in harms way. I remember a day, soon after our second child learned to
walk. We were at a dog show, I don't recall where. Piper went in
one
direction, and Ethan in
another, and Wynonah looked at me, with a totally
perplexed expression which
clearly said "OK, I do my part, but which one
do I follow NOW?!?" These days those same two children watch carefully to
see that Wynonah has a
clear path to the door, and a chance to wander
around the back yard without
too many other dogs there to overwhelm her.
Yesterday, I watched as
two of Wynonah's great grandpuppies made their
debut in the show ring:
two six-month-old Welsh that would not be here
without her. Two puppies
that I am the breeder of, as are their mother, and
grandmother before them.
The night these puppies were born, there were four
generations of Welsh in
my bedroom. This morning I thought of Wynonah, and
the other Welsh that I
have shared my life with, too. I cried some more.
I don't want to wait until
she is gone to tell everyone how wonderful she
is, how much I love her.
To use this moment with her as a chance to remind
everyone how much these
dogs mean to all of us. To say to everyone,
appreciate your old dogs,
and your puppies, the people you know, and the
richness added to your
lives, because of these red and white canines.
Enough. There are my Welsh
that came before her, and those afterwards to
think about yet today. I hope I've made each of you think, and remember,
and hug your dogs. Now I must go feed mine, and take myself back to
reality; I must go launder
the throw rug in our bathroom, the result of the
weakened bladder of a
13 year old Welsh.
