Then there’s the aging pet

My granddog is visiting this week.

Pippen came into our lives in the second year of my son’s illness, riding home from North Carolina as a tiny pup lying on John’s thigh. She was his constant companion until his death nine years later. Since then she’s lived primarily with my daughter and her family, along with long-term visits to John’s girlfriend’s and occasional stopovers with me.

Pippen the tiny pup rapidly grew to 85+ pounds but has forever thought herself a lapdog. She has remained the sweetest, gentlest dog in the whole world.

Now there’s no risk of her pulling me down as she jerks the leash. Her blind eyes can’t see the squirrels or CATS she loved to chase, or even the other dogs to greet as playmates. Now she falls off curbs, bumps into furniture and doors, and stumbles on steps. Now she has to be led.

Pippen has other problems that come with aging. She needs daily meds for various ailments. And just this week she has more strange spots and lumps that are yet to be diagnosed.

Other friends understand this situation all too well. One has three aging dogs that can’t be boarded or left except with a skilled sitter. The commitment in time, effort and money is significant.

So I wonder: who are we doing this for—the pet or ourselves? And when is it time to stop, and who makes that call? And who will be there for the final breath?

I don’t know if I can do that last one.

Losing Pippen will be not only about her sweet self but also about us losing our last tangible connection to John.

Yet I have no doubt that he is waiting to greet her, watching her always, and that the joy of their reunion will be glorious.