PHILADELPHIA STORY
Dog Gaze
The pros and cons of adopting a canine as a senior
Sunny stares at me with puppy dog eyes — which is apt since she is a dog.
This has happened hundreds of times before. Time and time again, when I’m trying to do something else, like writing this essay, she comes up to my brown cloth La-Z-Boy in our home in the Philadelphia suburbs and puts her nose on the chair’s arm. If my hand happens to be on it, she nuzzles me forcefully trying to get my attention.
Her gaze doesn’t waver for an instant. She is completely focused on getting me to pet her. Nothing else in her world matters.
Sunny’s eyes bore into me. I feel as though another person is watching me, expecting a response. She triggers something deep inside me with her neediness. It’s like an awkward silence. If she were a person, I’d do anything to break the tension.
But she is just a dog. She’s not judging me, even though I feel guilty as I resist touching her. I may be old and cranky, but I hate being forced to do things. Her gaze feels coercive like I’m in a stare-off with a relentless opponent.
To me, she is being a nudge.
(If you are unfamiliar with the term, according to The Free Dictionary it’s an idiom meaning, “someone who is constantly or persistently pestering, badgering, or irritating someone, especially with complaints or criticisms.” It’s pronounced differently than the verb “nudge”; as a noun, it’s “nood-ge.”)
The stand-off goes on for what feels like an hour before I say to myself, “She just wants love.” I give in and massage the top of her head, her fur falling between my fingers, and then I move to stroke her back.
Sunny’s in heaven.
You’d think that would be enough for her, but once I pull my hand away to get back to what I’m doing, she’s back staring at me, wanting more. Always more. I love her, but I do not love this behavior.
Then I think, she comes by this rightly. She is a rescue and is manifesting a need for the affection she did not get as a puppy.
About four years ago, my wife, whose nickname is MeK (Me-K), and I were living in a small town outside Knoxville, Tennessee. We were just starting our 60+ years and there was a hole in my wife’s life.
After decades of caring for kids and pets — we had a gecko that lived with us for 21 years — MeK felt lonely with only me and her in our 3,000-square-foot house.
I realized she needed something to care for again.
We hit upon the idea of getting another dog to follow the series of four — Willie Bear, Lady, Faith, and Hanley — we had had since getting married in the ’80s. We loved them all, but one by one they passed from old age. (I once read that getting a puppy guarantees heartbreak later.)
Frankly, I was skeptical that we could care for another canine at our age. But I wanted to help my wife be happy however I could. I went along with the idea.
I happened to mention this to Kris, the woman who cleaned our house every two weeks. She showed me a photo on her phone of a puppy named “Sunday,” who looked like a blonde Labrador, but skinnier.
Kris explained that the dog lived in Nashville — about three hours away — and needed a new home because the family that had her no longer wanted her. Worse yet, they’d abused the 9-month-old pup by penning her up all day and hitting her with a broom to keep her in line.
In my mind, I at once renamed her “Sunny.”
Before we knew it, Kris met MeK on a rainy afternoon at a dog park in downtown Knoxville. She’d driven Sunny over from Nashville and was handing her off to my wife.
Suddenly, we were dog owners again. MeK immediately went to PetSmart to buy food and supplies. Within a couple of days, we had a large dog crate from Amazon that served as Sunny’s “house.” She was all moved in.
Sunny was skittish from the start — likely because of the abuse — but it took less than a week for her to show her deeply loving side. She, MeK, and I bonded.
Sunny gave our house a whole new energy. It was no longer an empty cavern, but a place where she felt at home, racing around our big backyard.
We had to get her trained in the basics of obedience. We enrolled in a class at that same PetSmart, where an instructor named Vince taught us and some other couples how to command our dogs to, “stay,” “return,” and follow other commands.
Then, in 2021, we moved to the Philadelphia suburbs to live with our youngest daughter (who graduated from Temple University’s law school), her husband, and our new granddaughter. Sunny, of course, was part of the deal, as was my daughter’s cat, Hermes, who she and her husband rescued from the mean streets of the City of Brotherly Love.
Sunny settled into our new home without a problem, but she is still skittish.
She shocks us periodically by barking furiously at the sound of a car door out on the street or an Amazon delivery person ringing our doorbell, thinking she is defending us. She always has a Pavlovian response when the cat’s automatic feeder goes off, charging into the kitchen at its sound despite never getting the food. Giving into ancient instincts, Sunny can’t help but chase Hermes, but she mostly wants to play with the cat.
And there’s so much hair in our house — hair, hair, everywhere.
She can wear me out.
Sunny has an eerie sense of when my daughter and son-in-law come home from work. She goes to a window and wags her tail long before we see them walking down the street.
Besides the needy staring, there are some downsides to living with a youngish dog as a senior. I am disabled, walk with a cane, and am a fall risk. Sunny is always underfoot, making me nervous. When I come in the door after being out, I stand statue-still for a few seconds, fearing she will topple me as she roars around and burns off the excitement of someone coming home.
And sometimes Sunny is overly enthusiastic about walks. The other day MeK was trying to get the leash on her, when she accidentally jumped up and scratched MeK’s crepey senior skin with her nails, causing a bloody bruise.
While Sunny looks like a thin Lab, we found out a couple of years ago that she’s a mix of Britany Spaniel and Pit Bull, or a BritPit. She’s never been aggressive, though, even when our toddler granddaughter climbs on her.
It turns out that Sunny just needed some loving care to thrive. I find the idea of pets as “fur babies” irritating, but we do take seriously that she is a permanent part of our family. We have promised to care for her for the rest of her life.
Based on our experience, here are some things to consider when adding a new dog as a senior.
Getting a dog is a commitment.
It is cruel to adopt a dog, only to decide you don’t want it. A pet is not like a sweatshirt you can return to the store if you regret buying it. Be sure you are committed to doing things like walking the dog to give it exercise and dealing with poop bags. More seriously, can you consider the best interests of the dog before your own needs? As you age, will you have the energy to engage with a dog? If it outlives you and your partner, who will care for it?
Make sure that any prospective pup is a good fit for your household and lifestyle.
Think about the size of the dog you want (your home may not be big enough for a German Shepard), temperament (breeds are known for distinct characteristics), and age (are you prepared to deal with puppy pee pads or vet care for a senior dog?) Is there green space in your backyard or a local dog park for the dog to run around? If you travel a lot, where is a safe, stimulating place to board it? If you have health concerns, like me, will they get in the way of caring for the dog?
A dog can be expensive.
From adoption fees to vet bills, dogs are not cheap. Is there space in your household budget for food, medicine, pet toys, and so on? Do you have an emergency fund in case the dog is hurt in an accident or becomes ill? What are you willing to spend to keep it safe and healthy?
If you are properly prepared, getting a dog as a senior can bring new love into your life. MeK and I love Sunny — and she loves us back.
For us, it’s always Sunny in Philadelphia.
Randall H. Duckett is writing a book called Hurt Feelings: Inside the Emotions of Living in Chronic Pain. He invites fellow sufferers to share their stories in the book. He can be reached at randall@hurtfeelings.life. He is also the author of Seven Cs: The Elements of Effective Writing (available on Amazon); learn more at randallhduckett.com.
