By Charles P. Eberson
A Senior’s Observations,
Opinions and Rantings
It’s been years since we had a dog. Our first dog, Sheba, was a German Shepherd. We were told they are great with young children, which we had at the time, and she certainly was tolerant and gentle. We were new dog owners in training and discovered what a responsibility owning a dog was, but Sheba made it all worthwhile. After Sheba’s passing, our daughter surprised us with a Jack Russell terrier, we named Maggie. We weren’t looking to take on another dog, but Maggie was adorable. My daughter was insistent and would not be denied.
After Sheba, Maggie seemed like she drank too many Red Bulls. When someone came to the front door, Maggie would bark excitedly at the door, spin around like a Whirling Dervish and lose control of her bladder. Our guests would do their best imitation of Riverdance to protect their shoes from Maggie’s rotating sprinkler.
The one advantage of Maggie was her size. We were able to smuggle her through hotel lobbies either under my jacket or in my duffle bag and she was a squirmer. “Nothing to see here, folks.”
After Maggie, my wife and I were well into our fifties and decided we needed a watchdog. We picked a dog up at an animal shelter and named him Memphis after the city he was rescued from after Hurricane Katrina forced the disbursement of pets to safer locales.
Memphis was a cross between a Rhodesian Ridgeback and a Pit Bull. He grew to about sixty-five pounds of sleek muscle with long legs and resembled a young deer so much so that on hikes we had him wear an orange vest. Memphis was such a brilliant dog who amazed us at every turn; however, we didn’t think he knew he was a sixty-five-pound dog.
He craved personal contact and was incredibly affectionate but if you came to the front door, you feared for your life. As guests entered our home, Memphis would be straining at the leash, barking fiercely while we implored our guests “don’t look at him, just come in. Avert your eyes.” After a few minutes, Memphis would be snuggled at their feet.
Memphis’ passing after thirteen years affected us so deeply, we knew we could not go through this experience again and swore off dog ownership. The years rolled by, and my wife began longing for the companionship of a dog. I was still adamantly against it and for good reasons; our ages, travels and lifestyle does not lend itself to the responsibilities of dog ownership at this time. However, when my wife’s best friend asked us to watch her geriatric Havanese for two and a half weeks while she traveled to Hawaii, we just couldn’t refuse.
“Hunter” is fifteen years old and came with boxes of pills, ear drops, eye drops, canned food, dry food, three different types of treats and 2 full sheets of instructions. His panting, soft palate noises, snoring and mini strokes kept us on high alert. Hunter must go to the bathroom even more than I do and always seems to be when I have just settled in. He can’t walk steps, so we had to carry him in and out of the house and up and down the stairs in our home. He also needed to be lifted up and down from the sofa bed or ottoman.
Of course, on one instance when I had him in our backyard, he took off down our driveway and headed towards the street. Did I mention that Hunter is also deaf so my calls to him literally fell on deaf ears. I chased after him running faster than I have in years and scooped him up like a fumbled football before he reached the end of the driveway. I wondered what we would have told the owner if the unthinkable happened and if we still would have had to return him.
Naturally, one of his favorite places to rest was under my recliner when I reclined which required a heightened awareness or I could enclose him in the upholstered sarcophagus for eternity.
Hunter also replaced my spot in our bed. We were afraid that if I turned over onto him during the night, it may result in the untimely demise of the little furball with hardly a “yip.”
It has been ten days into our stewardship and Hunter has served his purpose. Along with helping a good friend who would rather entrust her beloved pet to us instead of putting him in a kennel, Hunter has successfully convinced my wife that at this time, a dog is no longer a necessity for happiness in our lives. Nevertheless, little Hunter with all of his challenges, proved to be an endearing addition. We were like doggie grandparents, enjoying his company in the short term before gladly handing him back none the worse for wear, as far as his owner knows.
Charles Eberson has been in the newspaper business for over 25 years. He has worked as a writer, advertising executive, circulation manager and photographer. His photography can be viewed at charles-eberson.fineartamerica.com
