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A love for life

Does he even hear me?

I can tell he’s deaf for he reacts to few sounds.

Does he even see me?

Most of the time I know the answer to that is a definite no. I’m amazed he sees at all with the deep cataracts which by now cover both eyes.

And yet … yes, and yet …

He holds on to life with the greatest enthusiasm.

He’s here now – at my bedside – as I write before pulling up the covers. It seems so very long ago that he last tried to jump onto the bed and failed. He wouldn’t try now.

(I even got out the old dog ramp, treats – and he’ll move for food when for nothing else – but the experiment failed. He remains asleep on the floor near the other.)

But come morning – after I’ve listened far too long to his heavy irregular breathing, he’s there with the heartiest greeting. Head pushed between my legs (I’d better lean against the wall to stay upright), his tail waving like the flag in a child’s hand on the Fourth of July. It’s a new day! Isn’t it the greatest thing ever to be alive? Isn’t this the best yet?

Yes, dear Quillow. I’m convinced. It just has to be.

Minor races for the door OUT!

Quillow ambles down the hall. That bush outside can wait. Where’s my breakfast? He can’t share the youthful invigorating ardor of the younger Minor but he’s there, eagerly waiting to gobble his morning meal. Meals any food, any time – is a biggie.

Then, when I go out to get the papers, he saunters – no rush, even now. I leave the house first but he’s mid-yard as I return and comes over to greet me.

He must recognize my gait – or the parka I wear year-round on these morning forays – for he’ll lumber over. We greet and I pat and then the two of us slowly return together to the house.

Both dogs expect treats. Minor gets a big bone – after all, he carried the papers back up that long driveway and (usually) even into the house. Quillow wants his share – just a reward, as near as I can tell, just for being Quillow. Weight always a problem for the older and less active male, his treat is positively bite-sized. It doesn’t seem to matter – just the notion is what counts.

Unlike Minor who seems at home anywhere, Quillow has definite “resting” spots. One is indoors where he commands a pretty good view of most of my comings and goings. Even more popular is the garage. I have always believed he was a pretty outdoorsy dog in his prime. Year round, if the weather is moderate at all (for him, that is, you wouldn’t find me out there), he’ll be lying in the smack-dab center of the garage. Should that bring on a chill, he’ll just mosey out into the sun – happily ensconced as long as he can.

I called him deaf at the top of the pages.

Like some we may all know, there’s a certain amount of selectivity involved in that. I don’t know if he hears much of what I tell him. And yet, let the kibbled food clatter into his metal bowl and he’s there, from many rooms – or even the garage – away, as fast as his old bones will carry him.

While I have always acknowledged Minor as top dog – well, he was here first – it is Quillow who gets the first bowl of chow. Minor, I fear, would take all of his – and then his friend’s, given the chance. And Quillow, ever a gentleman (I never claimed that distinction for Minor), does nibble more slowly. Some memories have faded but I believe Quillow had been used to having food left out all day so he could snack whenever he wished. There’s not a chance of that in this house. (I have absolutely positively NEVER known Minor not to be eager for ever more food.)

Whenever I go out, both dogs are generally waiting at the top of the driveway when I drive in. Quillow is there as soon as I open the car door, tail wagging and waiting for his pat, Minor pushing to be just as close.

A daily reminder of our mortality, it is Quillow who over and over also reminds me how good it is just to be alive.

I can’t think of very much I lack.

Susan Crossett has lived outside Cassadaga for more than 20 years. A lifetime of writing led to these columns as well as two novels. Her reason for Being was published in 2008 with Love in Three Acts released in 2014. Copies are available at Papaya Arts on the Boardwalk in Dunkirk and the Cassadaga Shurfine. Information on all the Musings, the books and the author can be found at Susancrossett.com.

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