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Posted at May 28, 2008 11:58

By Ron Marr
BORIS, MY BLIND AND MASSIVE MALAMUTE, has just come
awake with a silly grin on his face. He’s a happy fellow this late night,
having just become the proud recipient of a gigantic “dog pillow,” the
canine equivalent of a feather bed. He stands, turns three times (as dogs
are prone to do), and plops his 115 pounds into a more comfortable position.
Within seconds, he drifts back toward peaceful slumber.

Such was not always the case. The rare syndrome with which Boris
was afflicted stole his sight within twenty-four hours. That would shake
up the best of us.

Two years later, Boris doesn’t care that he is blind. Animals have the
sense that adaptability is the key to survival, and Boris adapted with flying
colors. He navigates steps and jumps in the car with nary a worry. As
long as I don’t move the furniture, you wouldn’t know he was sightless.

I’m more than a little impressed with Boris. His surroundings may
be dark, but his mind (if behavior is any judge) is ablaze with light and
color. Simply, he has made the best of a bad situation.

At the foot of the bed, the venerable Henry, a red dog of indeterminate
lineage, is crashed on a slightly smaller dog pillow. I don’t want to
say Henry is old, but I suspect he remembers reading the original patent
for dirt. Strangely, Henry’s advanced years don’t concern him; in fact, he
ignores them completely. Some days it is an effort for him to get to his
feet—arthritis has rented a time-share in his hips—but once up, that
dog is a blur of movement from dawn ’til long past dusk.

I don’t know that Henry has adapted to age. It’s more a case of his
refusing to give up his fun. Hen moves with reckless abandon, tumbling
and leaping like Olga Korbut after twelve cups of coffee. He races the
fence line, barking and howling at floaters on the Gasconade.

When he decides to come in the house, he doesn’t stand patiently at
the door awaiting a pat on the head. He bounces. Literally. I look out
the window and see nothing but a head and torso doing a Yo-Yo imitation.
Open that door, and Hen explodes through my cabin, searching
for a squeaky toy that would have long ago been destroyed if he still had
upper teeth.

I’m more than a little impressed with Henry. This sort of energy
should have faded, but Hen apparently missed the memo. When the
ravages of time try to sneak up on him, he chases them out of the yard,
barking and snarling and refusing to play by the laws of nature. Henry
has his own laws, and they’re gorgeous to behold.

I’ve always said my dogs give me far more than I give them, both
in terms of love, joy, care, and laughter. However, I think I need to tack
“education” onto that list.

Most of this past fall I was wiped out with a case of the old-fashioned,
full-blown flu. I started reading up on pandemics, pondering my own
pile of years, questioning mortality. Those latter two subjects rarely come
to my mind … for I’ve spent most of my existence attempting (with
some success) to remain a juvenile delinquent. But the illness lingered,
morphing into a variety of related ailments that made the world spin
before my eyes and my sinuses scream for mercy.

Finally it ended, but I was spent for weeks. I fell behind on work. I
worried. I was unconscious for about sixteen hours at a stretch.

Yes, there was some self-pity involved, but it didn’t last long. I looked
at a blind dog. He can no longer jump fences and crash through the
woods like a four-legged bulldozer, but his spirit has not dimmed. He
smiles and sings and his unseeing eyes never lose their twinkle.

I looked at an ancient pup, one who refuses to give an inch to time,
one whose energy level is that of dogs ten years his junior. He throws
his sixty pounds from bed to couch to the great outdoors, always ready
to rock and roll.

Finally I listened to my boys. I dragged myself
from bed and went back to living. Like Boris, I
thought, I may have to adapt a bit or at least take
care of myself. Like Henry, I thought I should
remember that while age is a thief, thieves can
be locked behind bars. Hen has shared his secret,
and I would do well to take heed. I must not forget
to fight age tooth and nail, laugh in its face,
and let it know I’ll give back as good as I get.

You wonder why I buy my boys dog pillows? It
is a small price for such grand lessons.

December 2007