I went to see my Dad the other day. Afterwards, my sister Irene texted me. She asked, “How’s the old guy?”
I answered, “Do you mean our dad, my husband, or the dog?”
I told Charlie what I said, and he didn’t think my snappy remark was as funny as Irene and me did.
Actually, Dad is in a little bounce right now. I think they must have gotten his blood sugar more under control. All of a sudden, he’s talking in complete sentences and is a little more with it. He’s even laughing a bit. Sure, Dad still thinks the trellis is a truck, and a typical visit is basically the same conversation three times over. Still, it’s nice to have my dad back again. I know it’s not gonna be forever, but I’ll take it!
Poor Scamp, though, during the fall he was diagnosed with a tumor on his spleen. He’d lost his appetite and was down to just eleven pounds. Since then, I think he’s developed some more tumors. So he’s kind of skinny in some places and round in others. But now he’s on an appetite stimulant/anti-nausea pill and it’s really helping. Plus, I’ve been cooking up chicken and ground turkey for him. Anything to tempt him into eating.
Scamp’ll be fourteen at the end of February (fingers crossed). He’s doesn’t really want to take walks anymore, which I miss. But every once and while, he surprises with a little jaunt around the yard. I’m grateful for that gift. Our job now is to not be sad around Scamp and just love him up! That’s easy! And to give him all the treats he wants. That’s kind of what I’m hoping for when I get old.
Here’s Charlie’s take on the situation. Between you and me, when he read me this poem, he got a little teary. Gosh, I love him. I love all my old guys!
Popsicle
It’s clear to Ida, clear to me
Ol’ Scamp ain’t what he used to be
Hop around? Chase the ball?
He’s not into that at all
He don’t want to walk nowhere
No, he’d rather stop and stare
At nothing, though there’s nothing there
And then, perhaps, he’ll sniff the air
And lick the snow, the way he will,
As if it were a popsicle
Scamp, he can no longer scamper
All we’ve left to do is pamper
Him, as best we can
Keep things mellow, that’s the plan
He don’t want to do no more
Than lie spread eagle on the floor
Then manage, in between his naps,
To muster for some table scraps
Aside from that, I’m certain he’s
Just as happy catching Z’s
Ida lifts him up the stairs
It’s obvious, he only cares
To follow her around the house
Not so much, Ida’s spouse
Me, that is, who’s less inclined
To kiss the mutt, no matter what
He’s old and wobbly, can’t erase it
Doesn’t matter, fellas, face it:
Life is good for older pooches
Gals still smother them with smooches
When I get as old as he
I hope the folks will let me be
To spend my hours taking naps
And eating lots of ginger snaps!
Then I’ll go outside awhile
I may not even walk a mile
No, I’ll prob’ly stop and stare
At nothing, maybe sniff the air
And lick the snow, the way he will,
As if it were a popsicle
That’s it for now. Catch you on the flip side!
Hear Ida Tell It: The Old Guy