Time is something of a fickle friend

Wallace reached a milestone recently. He has graced the world with his presence for one year as of the third week in January. Not a lot is different at the manor with the change from  puppyhood to  “teenager”; Wallace still doesn’t know anything. The usual shenanigans still take place and the senior dogs remain unimpressed. Probably the only thing the Seniors appreciate about the little bother and his birthday is that it provides a third opportunity for doggy sundaes from Schwan’s. 

Otto: Aw, jeez, is he STILL here? Haven’t we suffered long enough? And he’s laying on MY blanket.  Probably going to stay there all day too, the little cretin. 

Shelby: Hey, look! Mom’s going to the food thing…and she’s taking out those yummy cream things…and WE all get one!! Not just him. Hooray! 

Otto: Yeah, well…. he probably already licked ‘em.

Otto, the senior of the seniors, has earned the privilege of being a grumpy old man. A dachshund’s life expectancy is between twelve and sixteen years (though there are quite a few that live good lives to age twenty and beyond), and he’s had fifteen and a half trips around the sun. Except for some missing teeth and a cataract in one eye, Otto’s in good shape. We almost lost him about eight years ago. From whatever stick or bone he was chewing on at the time, he got a sliver in the back of his mouth on the top (we were unaware of this at the time) and because of the anatomy of dachshund snouts, a sliver entering exactly where it did worked itself right behind his eye where it promptly caused enormous trouble. Dr. Scott Lang at the Waseca Vet Clinic described to us the procedure that needed to be done and told us that neither he nor either Dr. Tom Metzdorf or  Dr. Jones-Lang had ever performed that surgery. He had only read about it. “But could you try? ” I remember whispering. “If this was your dog, would you try?” Dr. Scott said he would do his very best, and we knew that he would. When we picked Otto up a day or two later, Sue the receptionist told us that all three vets took part in Otto’s surgery–one to assist Dr. Scott and the other to read aloud all the procedures from the veterinary medical books. It was quite an ordeal for us, and a learning experience for the Waseca Vet Clinic. Otto, on the other hand, seemed to take it all in stride; he had an uneventful recovery and probably forgot all about the whole thing in a week. Not to be left out, Shelby had her own medical mystery this past summer and fall. She developed some sort of GI infection that prevented absorbing nutrients from her food. We watched in confusion and alarm as she wasted away for no reason that we could find. Once again, through methodical testing, the good doctors came through.

In the time I’ve lived here, the clinic has helped me nurture six cats and four dogs (not all at once. I might be crazy but I’m not insane). I am remiss if I give the impression that only dogs live at the manor.  Both a marmalade tabby cat called Winston and Frank the painted turtle also reside here. Frank is a quiet fellow, and self-contained for apparent reasons so he has few interactions with his canine siblings. Winston does visit Frank once in a while, although I think that may have more to do with the tank sitting in a sunny spot than Winston having neighborly inclinations. As far as the dogs, Winston tolerates Shelby but he enjoys hanging around the dachshunds the best, probably because they are the same size.  Otto is his napping buddy, and Wallace is his favorite playmate. 

I’ve obviously been thinking about time this week, and age, and all the sentimentality that goes with them. Of course, my brilliant daughter is at the top of my list because she’s graduating from college this spring, and though I am so thankful and proud of the woman she has become that I could just pop, a tiny part of me wishes she still preferred spending time with her mom rather than her brilliant friends who are way cooler. My parents are in their mid-eighties and are still kicking. In fact, my mom routinely gets “carded” when she asks for the senior discount to be applied to her bill. She’ll pull out her driver’s license to show to the cashier/attendant/staff, and generally, some sort of hubbub occurs as managers are called over to exclaim. I recently celebrated my ‘Carter-era speed limit’ birthday but I don’t feel much different from when I was thirty. And Wallace certainly does not act more mature and settled, but I suppose that’s okay. Animals are only around for a shorter period of time than they deserve, and I’m going to just love them and soak up everything I can (and with Wallace, that’s literal).