Some days, it seems like only yesterday I was scooping up a 60-pound wriggling puppy who was refusing to come inside for the night.
She was quick and wily and we spent many frustrating minutes playing chase around the yard.
Those days are long gone.
She’s a gentle, snuggly, old lady now, one whose rawrs have come to mean “scritch ma belly now.”
The whiskers of time
One challenge of partnering with a big white dog is that time doesn’t leave its usual calling card.
Darker-colored dogs wear their age with dignity, their muzzles slowly frosting with grey and white.
Not so with white dogs. Their muzzles are white.
So age can kinda sneak up on you if you aren’t paying attention.
Shep and Bella both hit 10 seemingly overnight. For Shep, his age was signaled by mild arthritis along his spine, though he stayed spry until a bout with torsion at 11. (He lived another nine months after that.)
For Bella, a torn cruciate ligament repaired with TPLO surgery marked the beginning of her shift. Now we’re managing osteoarthritis coupled by a hiking injury sustained in September, and my once-unstoppable adventurer has become an extra-large couch potato.
Or so I thought.
Defying expectations
She amazes me every day.
We planned a gentle hike at Round Lake State Park and I thought her young heeler buddies, Penny and Artie, might lift her spirits. As I opened the back of the car to set up her ramp, she leaped out before I could blink, tail wagging and ready to roll.
Those easy 2 miles? She crushed them. She walked with confidence, tail high the whole way as if to say, “Hurry up, Mama!”
And just this week, when snow dusted the hills, I called out, “Ole,” our code for “let’s go!” Her smile stretched wide as she bounced along the trail like a dog half her age.
Moments like these remind me that slowing down doesn’t mean stopping. Just because she’s older doesn’t mean she’s done adventuring.
Recognizing the shift
One of the hardest lessons my dogs have taught me is that aging doesn’t follow a straight line.
Hell’s bells, as a 50-something who struggles to act older than 15 on some days, I ought to know.
Some days, Bella moves gingerly, her pace cautious, and I wonder if her adventurous spirit is fading. Then there are days when she crushes a trail and reminds me she’s still got so much life left to live.
Aging isn’t about limiting our dogs; it’s about listening to them. It’s about recognizing their changing needs while respecting their desire to keep exploring. Mental and physical stimulation are key to their health.
Sure, arthritis or lower stamina might mean skipping rugged trails or scaling back on the miles, but it doesn’t mean giving up adventure. It just means redefining it.
Adapting our adventures
With Shep, a slip on an icy sidewalk brought arthritis into our lives. We swapped mountain hikes for car adventures, exploring ghost towns and abandoned homesteads across Alberta and British Columbia.
Now, with Bella, I’ve learned to:
- Embrace shorter outings with flatter trails.
- Build in plenty of rest breaks with snacks.
- Seek out lakes or streams where she can cool off .
- Celebrate what’s possible instead of mourning what’s not.
Adventure isn’t measured in miles; it’s in the experiences we share.
Coping with change
Anticipatory grief has a quiet way of sneaking in, a lump in your throat when you see the slower steps or the way their eyes say, “I’m trying my best.”
With Bella, it hits me in unexpected moments: when she struggles to climb onto the couch or hesitates at the start of a favorite trail.
But grief also brings an opportunity to savor the now.
It’s a reminder to stay present in these moments with our dogs, to make sure every day with them is somehow epic – no matter how you define “epic” and …
To take pictures.
Shoot video.
Write a journal.
These aren’t just for the future; they help us focus on the love we share now, in the moment.
Finding the magic in slower moments
She may not be as spry as she used to, but her tail still wags with the same enthusiasm when she hears her collar jangle and I yell out “ole!”
She still leans into me on quiet walks, her presence grounding and protective.
These slower moments have their own kind of magic.
We’ll sit by the Spokane River, watching the water pass us by, and she rests her head on my shoulder.
We’re slowing down time as much as we can by noticing the details, the way her fur feels under my hand, the way she gets my attention with that one paw, the way her fiery yellow eyes have softened into a gentle brown.
Adventuring with an aging dog has revealed something profound: Bella has taught me that the depth of our connection isn’t measured in miles or summits but in the love we share along the way, the smiles she brings to my face when I see her bounce down a trail like she’s still 4.
Slower adventures have revealed an even deeper connection than I could have expected, a closeness that comes from adapting, listening and simply being together.
Life with Bella has become slower but not lesser, and it has become a time to cherish every aroof, every nuzzle and ever sunset we share.
Because these moments, however fleeting, are the ones that truly matter.
