"Your Dog is Old!" A Response.

Lately people have taken to tell me Faith is an old dog, as if I don't know. There's a lot of snow on that muzzle. They'll say: she walks pretty slow. As if I might not have noticed.

"How OLD is she?" they ask.

Faith will be 13-1/2 at the end of this month. But who's counting?

I am, of course. When people say: "She's old," I say, "Yeah, and she has a million boyfriends--she's a cougar," and they laugh.

And I'm defensive, but I'm bragging, too. Faith used to hate most dogs. For the most part, now? She's never met a dog butt she doesn't like. Score one for aging. Instead of becoming a persnickety senior citizen, Faith has become--well--boy crazy. And girl crazy, too. She doesn't judge, and neither should you.

She's old, they say, and I know this bothers my husband, and I pretend it doesn't bother me. Because there isn't anything we can do about it.

Except give her more medicine (she's on an aspirin) and more maybe helpful stuff (Dog Gone Pain, an herbal mix) and some supplements (fish oil tablets--bleh--except--she loves them). And exercise her in the water (Dog Beach in Prospect Park: we love you. Water 4 Dogs: we are so lucky have you 10 minutes away.).

A few people ask more old dog questions.

"How are her eyes?" they ask, anxious. And I know mostly, the people who ask these questions are talking about their own dogs, old or gone. They are comparing. It's okay. I do exactly the same thing when I meet somebody else's old dog. We are all going to lose this race in the end.

Fine, I say. I'm actually not sure, but this summer, I've seen her jump into a big blue lake and pluck two floating toys out of the water, so: fine.

" How's her hearing?" Good enough to hear me opening a can of salmon, a room away. Good enough to hear my husband and me stir in the morning. Good enough to start wagging her tail at the sound of a leash being picked up.

"How's she doing?" they ask. I want to say, "I don't know. Maybe her hips hurt, maybe it makes her angry not to run much anymore, maybe, maybe...she's a dog. I am never going to speak her language, and she is never going to speak mine."