My Old Boy

When I met him back in 2008 he was just 28 years old, since that time he has aged, he is now 77, in dog years of course. He is my old boy.

He was the only quiet dog in shelter,  a black and white border collie laying in his cage eyeing me cautiously. We were told by one of the volunteers that he was his favorite and if we were going to adopt him, he would look away.  We got him out to play and he was simply the best. I bonded with him immediately, he has the sweetest face and eyes. I couldn’t say no.

We took him home and for the first week he laid on his bed and stared at us never made a peep, not a bark out of him. He wouldn’t eat or drink. I put maple syrup on my fingers to let him lick it off hoping his blood sugar would increase and maybe he would eat. After two weeks, still no sound. Three weeks in  I am upstairs and I hear a strange noise. Wait , is that a bark? In my house? Indeed it was and it has not stopped since.

We have survived a lot of turmoil with him, separation anxiety, two major surgeries, acting out, manic fear of storms and fireworks. He chewed shoes, ate some eye glasses and left a mark or two on my boyfriend. (Didn’t like the competition). He is my old boy.

His name is Jessup after Colonel Nathan R. Jessup from the movie “A Few Good Men”. I sometimes call him Cujo and my grandson has adopted that expression as well.  He is the cantankerous old man of our house, He likes it quiet and sleeps 80 percent of his days.  He has beds in two different rooms. He can’t always navigate the stairs properly and sometimes one of his legs gives out and he splays his body across the stairs, as if he is just learning to walk. But he must be a Marine because he never gives up. He often moans in his sleep or barks for no reason. He struggles to get in the car, but boy does he love the ride! So we often give him a little help. He still lets me give him a bath and comb out his shiny fur if treats are involved.

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