Old Dogs
A few years back in the space between a guy who was never gonna love me and a guy who loved me a little too much, I had a brief crush on a lobsterman I met at pub trivia night. Let’s call him Dan, because I don’t know if he wants his real name distributed on the internet by some girl he hung out with that one time.
(The answer to the question “does this guy want his real name distributed on the internet by some girl he hung out with that one time?” is pretty much always “no,” I think.)
So one night I showed up to trivia night at a local sports bar with a handful of girl friends. A couple of guys were supposed to meet us there but upon our arrival we couldn’t find them, so we got a table – a big circular booth in the corner where we could camp out, drink our purple drinks and fail miserably at the trivia-game portion of the evening. There was room on my end of the horseshoe-shaped bench for a couple more people if the guys ever showed up. Only one of them did – Dan, who sat next to me and apologized for being late, sheepish and adorable. He’d arrived early, spotted some friends’ parents on the other side of the restaurant, and didn’t realize we were there, waiting for him. At this point in my life I would usually freeze up if a cute guy got within 10 feet of me, but Dan was really cute, and sitting right next to me, and I was about three-quarters of a purple drink in, so instead of freezing I smiled at him and said hello and soon we were chatting away like old friends.
He had a kind, disarming smile and a stubbly half-beard; wearing worn-looking jeans and a wool sweater, he looked laid-back and at ease in himself. When we all left for the evening he gave me a hug and my stomach flippity-flopped. The next day he had tracked me down on Facebook, and a few days later we were texting, and then on Saturday night I went over to his house to hang out.
Appearances to the contrary, this story really isn’t about this cute lobsterman so much as about his dog. He had an old German Shepherd we’ll call Betty. I don’t remember how old she was, but she had arthritis and was on various medications. And that one Saturday night I spent with the two of them, Dan told me all about Betty and all the funny things she did and how much he loved her and how he had recently argued with the vet that it wasn’t time to think about letting her go, he couldn’t go there, and how she sometimes ate whole socks and then pooped them out in the yard. She sat on one side of him and I sat on the other and we watched Saturday Night Live.
And then, when Betty needed to go outside to pee, Dan carried her down the stairs from the porch to the lawn, and back up again when she was done, because her hips were bad and she couldn’t climb the stairs anymore. His gentleness with that old dog struck me then and still strikes me now when I remember it.
Dan and I saw each other once after that night, on the street in Portland, after another night out. My friends and I gave him a ride, and we leaned against each other in the back seat and confessed we each had a crush on the other, but he had a part-time girlfriend in another state who was coming home soon, and I was chock full of post-divorce issues. It just wasn’t going to be a thing. But we remained Facebook friends, and a long time after that night, I saw his name and the words “RIP Betty” in my news feed. I was sad to read of his loss; if anybody ever loved a dog it was this dude.
When my parents’ blind old dog Riley came to stay with me recently, I remembered Dan and Betty. At 10 years old, Riley has diabetes, requires regular injections and has lost all but his peripheral vision. He is a higher-maintenance dog now, like Betty. And someday my own little dog Sprout’s needs will increase, too. And I think how we treat animals reveals a lot, things we can’t fake. Like when my childhood dog went to the vet to be put to sleep, and my dad was choked up holding her as she passed, even though he’d just as soon not have house pets.
The way Riley looked to me for help getting out of my car, his sightless eyes still trusting, or laid his head on my knee or snuggled on my lap - I just kept thinking about it, how we treat them when they’re declining and we’re all they’ve got to make the journey better. Old dogs and their people.
(Update: Riley passed away in 2014. Sprout is now 11 years old and enjoying the benefits of pharmaceuticals to treat congestive heart failure.)
