Old Man

Old Man

Old Man is dead.  He passed away comfortably this morning at 11am.  Old Man’s chronic kidney disease worsened rapidly in the new year, resulting in an inability to eat, walk or stand.  It was time to let him go.

We went on good walks.  Shelby Farms in Memphis was his favorite.  We walked that park in sweltering heat and when it was frozen and covered with snow.  A few times we got caught out in the rain, which he hated. Once, he chased a goose and fell straight into a pond, which he didn’t seem to realize would happen.  In Glendale, we went daily to the scatter wash, where we walked trails together and he sniffed and peed on everything.  

Old Man was a wanderer.  He liked to roam. We traveled much of the country together, from Memphis to Florida, New Mexico and North Carolina, to Baltimore, to Ann Arbor, MI, then across the country through the plains and mountains to Phoenix, AZ.  We stopped every day for a good long walk, preferably off leash, and explored many places together. He was a calm and willing traveling companion.  

Old Man was my cancer dog.  I adopted him in June, 2017 after I had apparently survived radiation, because my friends were concerned about my will to live.  He may have saved my life. He was my pal through some of the darkest moments of my life. When he almost died in 2018, I wept over him, fed him plain cooked chicken and asked him to stay with me longer.  This time, I told him it was ok to go.

Old Man was not a people dog.  He liked us ok, but he didn’t love us.  He chased cats and some birds, but not rabbits.  He liked to meet horses and seemed perplexed once by a deer.  He was never a cuddler. He didn’t want to smell your dirty hand, he wanted to smell your breath.  He was most curious about what you had been eating.

I sang to Old Man, even though he was partially deaf.  The songs went something like:

Old Man is a good dog.
Old Man is a real good doggo.

Or

Old Man, Old Man,
What should we do now?

Because he didn’t hear well, we communicated visually with some hand gestures, a whistle that meant “hey look at me” and a percussive sound that meant “stop.”  He wasn’t too obedient, but he was a very good dog.

Rest in peace, my friend. Life feels emptier without you.