Several years ago, my brother, Clark, told me that after turning thirty-nine, he reversed downhill to avoid going over the hill. In other words, Clark will celebrate his 33rd birthday again later this year (you do the math - if you are a Jones, I don't care if I did the math wrong, it is close enough.). Yesterday I turned 49. I am wondering if maybe I should switch into reverse as well. I don't feel like I am quite ready to go over-the-hill. On second thought, my husband is already over-the-hill, so I might as well join him.
As far as birthdays go, yesterday's was kind-of weird. I slept in until almost nine in the morning. When I came downstairs, no one else was awake, so I sat down in a comfortable chair and began to read an entertaining book. Around eleven, people began to trickle down the stairs. Lester pulled-out various ingredients to begin making a special breakfast, and then left to give the dogs their morning walk. When he got back he asked if I had noticed anything strange about Maisy, our boxer, lately. I hadn't, I replied, but why did he want to know. He told me that she had fallen over twice while he was walking her, and seemed to have trouble getting up.
I was not overly concerned. She had been normal all morning. I thought she might be play-acting, because she is lazy and didn't want to walk. Sadly, within a few minutes of this conversation, she suffered a major seizure. After it was over, but before we had finished discussing what our best course of action was, she had another, and then another, and then another one. We ended up having to put her down.
Our other dog is half Labrador Retriever. His favorite thing is his ball, which he guards jealously. When Maisy had her first seizure, he went into the other room and rummaged around under the couch until he found his ball. He brought it in and dropped it on the floor near Maisy's head. He nudged it with his nose until it lay right up next to her.
Now, I am not of the ilk who attribute human emotions to animals, but it was very touching to see his behavior. In addition, he has been in obvious depressed spirits since she died. It makes me wonder what differences there might have been in how animals interacted with each other and with humans before sin bent the world. Why is it that we become so attached to our pets? Are animals capable of love?
I know that these are ultimately unanswerable questions, at least in the world as it exists right now. But, I also know that Maisy used to come and lean up against me in a companionable way, and she used to clean my feet with her tongue. I know that she was sometimes a reassuring balm to my soul, and that I loved her, in a doggy sort of way.
