Old Dogs

Kobe is an old dog. For about 4 years now, I've been saying he's 10 years old. Truth is we don't really know how old he is.

Still, you just have to love him. He has more heart that some people ever will, even on their very best days. His list of aches and pains would probably make us weep if we felt them. His hips are bad, his elbows are bad, and he has few teeth. Which makes it hard to compensate one area for the other. Going down stairs is a ginger process. Going up requires a lot of momentum. On the really bad days Reno will carry him down.

His favorite water bowl is the toilet, and he doesn't get that I have a use for it too (though not for the same reason). More than once I've nearly sat on him when we both went for the stool at the same time. He's in the bathroom with me so often I told him today I'd give him a whole bag of liver treats if he'd just get me a roll of toilet paper. He wasn't interest in the incentive plan, just a long cool drink when I was done.

It's not unusual to change his bedding several times a week, or a couple days in a row. Sometimes he needs a bath if he wet his bed while I was out. I know, not the glory days of canine life, but his good days more than make up for them. If a warm bath and clean blankets comfort him, I can do that. When his tail wags and he gamely ambles over for some loving all is right in the world.

He is the Walter Matthau of old dogs. Doddering, endearing, gentle as they come - and everything one could hope for in a dog. The glory of it is that I get to care for him and am blessed to call him my own.