HanktheDog Blog

Over the last year or so, I've noticed that humans have started making not-so-veiled references to my age. Just for instance: several blocks down the road, there live a couple of frollicking, rollicking Labs who often greet Mike and Lucy and me with the kind of butt-shuffling, springy-legged, full-bodied enthusiasm common among sporting dogs. One them was trying to puppy play with me when his human told him to calm down because I'm an "elder statesman."

Another man called me an "old timer" when I was walking through the alley the other day, and many folks have more politely asked my age (currently 8, by the way).

Well, okay. It's true that I'm getting a bit gray around the muzzle. I've been telling myself it's premature since my mom was a very light buff-colored Lab compared with my fox-red dad. But I also know that age really is creeping up on me, as it does on all of us. I'm a little stiffer on my bad back leg in the morning than I used to be, a little more cautious as I come up the stairs with the newspaper.

We Labs are not terribly introspective. We tend to take life as it comes. But lately I've noticed some changes. For example, I no longer jump up indescriminately when the refrigerator door opens. I just listen from the other room. Someone rumaging through the vegetable drawer holds little interest. I don't even lift my head at the sound. The sound of rustling plastic is different. I may raise an eyebrow to that. And if it's exactly the right kind of rustling plastic and if it's preceded by the sound of an opening meat drawer, then I'm willing to expend the energy to get up and mosey into the kitchen. The promise of a taste of deli turkey or ham makes the trip worth it. And, if I limp just a little, playing the age card, I'm almost sure to score something.

Yes, a certain wisdom - or even wiliness - is one of the recompenses of age. The sliced pepperoni tastes a little sweeter today than it used to, being won by dint of fine mental calibration rather than the constant, unnuanced begging of my puppyhood. Likewise, I now know when to bark at the door and when to just let neighborhood noises pass, when to stay in the shade during walks in the Florida sun and when to brave the heat, and when to just ignore another crack about how I'm getting older. An older dog knows, after all, that life is fleeting and shouldn't be wasted on trivia. In fact, the need to savor each sweet moment is one of the tricks that we older dogs can teach.