Tasha is my dog. I have had her for six years. I love her.
She is very old, very sweet, and pretty smelly. Especially her mouth.
I don’t know how hold she is, because when I got her, the vet said she was somewhere between the ages of three and six. I think she is probably somewhere between eleven and thirteen now, which I know for a dog is a huge range.
When I took her last year for X-rays, she had bone spurs and/or arthritis in practically every bone and joint in her body. And I am not being hyperbolic. It was painful just looking at the X-rays. Actually, now that I think about it, they weren’t X-rays, they were something fancier. And more EXPENSIVE. Some kind of semi-3-D imaging. As he was explaining the images, the vet said, in this very serious voice, “You have a geriatric dog.”
People, let me tell you, when I first had Tasha, I took her everywhere – Bible study, to the grocery store, to friends’ homes, on long walks, everywhere. She was always well-behaved, mellow and cute. She also preferred to stay home, thank you very much. People who don’t like dogs at all like this dog. They usually say something like, “well. . . she’s not really a very dog-like dog.” It’s true, she’s not. She has the energy level of a potted plant. She has never jumped on anyone, played catch (or played anything for that matter), ran around or even fussed for her dinner. She never so much as farted in an annoying way. So. Imagine that dog being geriatric.
She is currently in this position:
And, this is, more or less, how she is 98% of the time. In the mornings she can be breifly “frisky” if you dangle the leash in front of her and make a loud noise with a plastic bag. I use the term “frisky” very loosely. She loves to go for her walk, although with her various ailments (did I mention, she also has a brain tumor?), the most she can comfortably manage is about a half a block.
Even before I knew she was geriatric, and long before we found out about the brain tumor, I had a very clear sense that I wanted another dog. This was almost two years ago.
This is where Tasha’s secret hidden energy comes in. I think somehow she knew that I wanted another dog. She objected. And she used all that energy that she has been saving up by not acting like a real dog for years to put a serious PAW HEX on my ever getting another dog.
I will tell you more about the PAW HEX another time, I promise. Right now, I have an overwhelming urge to get some goat cheese and feed it to Tasha. I must go!