Tails of the White Dog

Updated: 3/20/97

She is old now, She is slow. She tries to ignore me at night when she needs to make one last trip outside. But she doesn't complain, she doesn't argue, she does what she's done all her life.

She gives you that look, "Don't worry about me, I'll get by." It's the look that tells you, you have to worry about her. She is a babe in the woods and would never survive.

She may be the most loving and trusting dog, I have ever known. She has put up with indignities that would kill a cat. Food on your nose, "Stay!" Sit! Lie Down! Frat Boy! Obey..., OK!

She is old now. There are times when she doesn't want to hear. She doesn't want to get up. She knows that she is supposed to, but it hurts too much. Finally, she does, because she trusts you. It hurts me because I know she is hurting and only doing it because I asked her to.

There are few thing sadder than an old dog. Dogs lives happen too fast. They are around long enough to become a big part of your life, and then they are gone. The transition from playful, troublesome puppy to old, troublesome dog is long enough to be endearing but to short to be comfortable.

I am in my third decade, and Sandy is my third dog. Even though she has lived with me a small fraction of her life, she has always given herself completely to me. When she is here, I am her master. It seems an amazing trait to me, to trust and follow so many masters.

She is still the beautiful, trusting dog that she always has been. A testament to her varied and loving masters. But she is old and she is not long for this world. She moves slowly and sleeps most of the day. A far cry from the young, exuberant pup I knew not too long ago. But she still tries to please, and I am sure that when she goes, her last movement will be one last wag of the tail.

A picture of Sandy, taken about 10 years ago.