Phil is a pitbull/lab mix. He’s 14 years old. Will turn 15 in December. I didn’t expect to have him this long. For him to still be with me is a gift, I’m not certain I deserve but will absolutely take.
Three years ago, almost to the date, Phil had liver failure. Early on, the vet told me she didn’t expect him to make it through the weekend. Days spent in tears; nights spent taking him outside every thirty minutes because of the IV fluids he’d been given. I begged. Pleaded for the universe to give me one more year with him, never thinking I’d get three, and still going.
A week before Phil’s health took a dive, we’d spent the day at his favorite park, with a large pond where children fish and plenty of green grass for picnicking. I’d brought a blanket. Read a book while Phil smelled the bushes and, eventually, rolled in the grass. We walked the path that circled the pond, a sign listed the trail at .45 miles.
Even at 11 years old, Phil had tackled that trail twice. A week later, he was dying. It took a couple of months for him to fully recover. By the time he was ready, I, unfortunately, was not. My own health had taken a hit and knocked me down for a couple of years. I missed doing many things– family functions, ball games, concerts, socializing with friends– but especially, taking Phil to the park.
After three years, Phil finally got to go to his favorite park. I had always brought water for him in a blue thermos. I never had to say a word. The moment he’d see me holding the thermos, he knew he was going to the park.
Three years later, Phil hadn’t forgotten that blue thermos. My 14-year-old dog turned into a tail-wagging, energetic puppy when he saw me filling that thermos with water. He knew. If his old legs would have allowed him, he’d have jumped all over me for taking so long to get him into the car.
The weather couldn’t have been more perfect. Sunny, with a cool breeze. While I was sick, I’d thought about those casual days at the park, sitting on a blanket in the grass, surrounded by water, thick green bushes, and flowers in full bloom, with the sun tingling my skin, and Phil’s doggie kisses wetting my face. I’d missed those days so much.
After three years, we made back to the park together. Though Phil’s legs no longer allow him to walk that trail, not even once, not even halfway, he enjoyed the park just the same. His nose still works, and boy, was he enjoying the scents. His tail never stopped wagging as he sniffed the grass, the bushes, and the trees. We stayed in one general area, as opposed to walking the entire park, but that didn’t bother him.
Dogs aren’t like people. They don’t lament about what they can no longer do but indulge in what they still can. Phil can still walk, albeit slower and not as far. But he took in the sun, the scents, the people…. the moment.
Humans can learn so much from animals.
The car ride there saw a dog perked up in the backseat, face looking out the rolled-down window, mouth open and tongue hanging out with pants of excitement.
The car ride home saw an old dog sprawled out in the backseat–exhausted and sleepy. I wish I had before/after pictures. But I don’t. However, I have other pictures that show Phil enjoyed his day at the park.
No one knows how many days at the park we have left. We should spend them the way dogs do.
aliciajoseph 