6th February 2010
The old dog is asleep by the fire.
The day is done and he can relax. He no longer has to be tougher than the working dogs or to disdainfully ignore the pups. He is inside by the fire, on his sheepskin rug with a belly full of ham bone. The others are outside with their biscuits – where they belong.
Maybe his legs aren’t what they used to be. He runs like he is drunk, back legs not following the front, and he falls over often, has trouble getting into the ute and won’t go with the horses as they muster the cattle. The local vet, whom he hates as he has hated every vet that has crossed his path, has prescribed a little pill with his meal every night. His hearing is failing too, or maybe his people just aren’t speaking as loud.
But it wasn’t always this way. He wasn’t always an old dog. Indeed this is a special dog. He has been with them for many years now. Seen them through both the good and the bad. Continue reading