A slower part of the family (05/14/08)

It may have been the fifth. Maybe it was the seventh. But we're pretty sure it was sometime before the tenth.

We're a little unclear at our house on the exact date of the dog's birth.

But there's no doubt at all about her age.

Shadow turned 15 this month. By the old standard of seven dog years for one human year, that would make her the equivalent of an incredible 135 years old.

But that standard has been discounted. The best estimate is that she's 73 in human terms, still a venerable age.

And for a big dog, a Labrador, it's a remarkable achievement.

What's the secret of her longevity? She preserves her strength and sleeps most of the time.

When she was a pup, she'd wake up when we did. These days, she'll give me a look when I come down in the morning, then close her eyes and sleep for at least another hour. After that, she'll stay up while we have breakfast, then go back to sleep when we leave for work.

She wakes up at lunchtime, as long as I make enough noise when I come home.

Sometimes all it takes is a few claps of the hands, sometimes I practically have to shout in her ear.

I don't think she's completely deaf, but her hearing is selective. And she tuned out wake-up calls a long time ago.

Like most big dogs, she's having some troubles with her hindquarters, so we try to keep her downstairs. Trust me, she's a lot to carry.

Age has also meant a change in our dog-walking habits.

Used to be, we'd do a route around several blocks two or three times a day. These days, it's a single circuit around just our block, and sometimes we take a short cut even then.

It's not so much a walk around the block as it is a mosey around the block.

And it takes a lot more time than it used to. Friday, Shadow wanted to go for a walk just as dinner was about to be ready. "We'll be right back," I said.

We set out on our usual route, saying hi to Sky, the dog next door. We kept a lookout for Freckles and for June Ireland's little dog and for Candy, who lives on the corner. Then we crossed over Middle Street to the group home so I could visit with my friend Jerry Stewart and Jerry could give Shadow a scratch behind the ears. Then it was back east on Race Street, giving Leland LeMaster's front yard a serious sniffing then taking a piddle near the home of Elsie Mae, a beagle owned by some young friends. By the time we rounded the corner, heading for home, dogs all over the neighborhood were yapping.

They would quiet down as soon as we were out of sight, but we were moving at a snail's pace, or more precisely at a 15-year-old Labrador's pace. I was walking like Mr. Tudball in the old Carol Burnett sketch with Tim Conway, receiving absolutely no cardio benefits from the exercise. If anything, I think my heart rate slowed down.

By the time we reached home, more than 20 minutes had passed and my dinner was cold.

Shadow didn't mind though. She had an early nap planned to be followed by another snooze in preparation for the main event, bedtime.

We probably should sing her a rousing chorus of "Happy Birthday," but I don't want to wake her.[[In-content Ad]]