My shepherd Zumi is closing in on her 13th year and as I look into her aging, weary-looking eyes, I wonder to myself if I gave her the best life she could have.
I never imagined her looking so tired. She had always been full of piss and vinegar, eager to fearlessly take on whatever was presented to her. But now her legs are weak, her hearing is challenged and her enthusiasm for chasing anything is weighed against the effort of having to lift her arthritic bones off the comfy bed.
It breaks my heart, but she doesn't seem bothered by it, accepting her senior years with as much grace as she can. She still tries to put on a good show when the dastardly squirrel runs along the power lines, but she tires quickly and the squirrel knows this. He now taunts her, flicking his tail and chirping a few feet away, knowing full well she can no longer move as quickly as she used to. She now just gives one last bark, lays down and watches the furry bugger watching her. In essence, she has learned to turn the other cheek, something she would have never considered doing as a youngster. She was always the one to make sure her voice was the last one heard, her presence the last one felt and her menacing "I dare you" stare the last thing seen.
I have learned so much from her about dog behaviour and myself. She has by far been the most challenging of dogs I have had in my life and the most loyal, at times to a fault, putting herself in harm's way for my safety. She was always an honest dog that played by the rules, but she played with her whole heart.
I love her.
I miss her.
Even though she is still here with me, I miss the tough-as-nails, believe-in-yourself-and-expect-the-best, four-legged cowgirl she was. She still is that cowgirl in a way, but she chooses her battles more carefully now. Much like me, I guess.
She enters conflict only after great consideration no longer with the intention of winning, but rather after ruminating whether the battle is worth the pain of the fight, or if there is a more peaceful way of settling the conflict. If not, then she just walks away. Peace is achieved through tolerance rather than physical conflict.
When physical strength no longer reigns then intuition does.
We have been soul sisters, Zumi and I. She openly and eagerly expressed anger and frustration that I never could. She never held back to tell someone (dog) off for crossing the line, when I did.
She never looked back in regret on her choices to speak up, yet I often looked back in regret for not speaking up.
No dog ever took advantage of Zumi. They never even tried. She was unabashedly confident with a "you mess with me and you are in for a whole lot of hurt" attitude that I did not have.
I envied her, until I found the courage to be her.
From her, I've learned to be unafraid to speak up. Whether she (or I) was right or wrong didn't matter. What did matter was that I had a voice and an opinion that was worthy of expressing, simply because it was an opinion. She taught me the true meaning of freedom of expression. It's a freedom that has nothing to do with my "right" to express myself, but the freedom of the soul when I am heard, when I don't hold back and bottle up emotions and thoughts to the point where they become ugly, resentful bitterness inside.
As I have said, Zumi is almost 13. That is almost 90 years old in human years. For a 90-year-old dog, she does not have a stitch of grey hair on her. She is still as black as coal. Outside of her weary eyes and her arthritic walk she doesn't look older than a dog of five. There is a lesson in aging gracefully in this as well.
Zumi has lived fully. She has lived openly and she has lived with no regrets. She has lived a good life.
Joan Klucha has been working with dogs for more than 15 years in obedience, tracking and behavioural rehabilitation. Contact her through her website k9kinship.com.
