My nephew’s dog, Ozzie, just passed away after a long and happy life. If Ozzie is like his cousin Sparky, what he wants most is to hang out with his smart human. Ozzie got to do that every day, so he lived his best life.
Everyone is familiar with the conversion factor: 1 human year equals 7 dog years.
My theory is that dogs don’t live as long as we do because they experience life so intensely.
Watch the video of Sparky with Mr. Moose. Is there anything in your life that engaging? How about something that has captured your attention like that every day for a year? If you said yes, are you a two pack-a-day smoker who couldn’t have a cigarette until after dinner? Are you a teenager who just discovered his “special purpose”? Or are you just a regular ol’ junkie?
A skeptic might suggest that dogs spend a lot of time laying around. True, but humans spend much of the day doing mundane crap. I had a productive and entirely satisfactory day, but the most gratifying part of the day was having cold lemonade after splitting logs on a warm day.
What was the most gratifying part of your day? Don’t say seeing your children, that’s baloney. Kids ain’t that great. Yeah, they have their moments, and in the long term, they can bring fulfillment. What brings a bigger dopamine rush, seeing your kid trying to make a hat out of a paper towel or finding an extra $10 in your pocket?
Talking to my nephew about Ozzie, got me thinking about my roommate. When I adopted Sparky last year, he was 9 years old. That was a relief because I’ve never had a dog, but figured I could live with any inconvenience for 5 or 6 years. Now, I find out that the average lifespan for a beagle is 12 to 15 years.
Learning that is unnerving. Sparky turns 11 at the end of July. He is close to being a short-timer. My vague plan was to get another dog in a couple of years. I want some overlap so Sparky can train the new guy how not to be a jerk.
On Monday, I was in Tractor Supply with Sparky buying dog food. Having a dog is a conversation starter, and having a handsome rogue like Sparky is akin to having Harrison Ford as your wingman. The woman behind me in line started talking about how her mutt just passed away two weeks ago. Thanks Oprah, that’s a great conversation starter. I’m as empathetic as the next guy standing in front of you at a checkout line, but I couldn’t bear it.
I tried to get her to shut up, but she was intent on dumping her trauma all over the counter. Sparky picked up on my discomfort and started peeing on the shopping cart wheel. That always breaks the tension.
When I got a dog, I didn’t figure on getting Sparky. Having a dog would be fun. He’d try to walk on his hind legs like people and bark along to Christmas carols. The rest of the time, he’d lap at his nuts like that owl trying to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop.
Years ago, I heard this life advice: “Try to be the person your dog thinks you are.”
I get it. Sparky thinks I have my shit together and he’s counting on me to do what’s best for both of us.
It’s well after midnight, but after getting all sentimental, I want to wake Sparky up and go for a walk in the woods. Once I’d gotten his attention and convinced him that I wasn’t talking to someone else, he’d slow walk to the door. By the time his leash was clipped on, he’d be wagging his tail. When we got to the yard, Sparky would act like this was his idea all along.