Jill Rants and Raves: dachshund dotage and doting

I stumbled a little on the path by the creek in Tilden Park yesterday, and almost dropped my precious cargo. I looked down at the little 10 pound form nestled in my arms, his front legs and long snout draped over my forearm, his back legs dangling slightly. His eyes gazed out at the passing sights and he seemed entirely at peace with the situation. A few minutes before I had looked behind me on the trail and had asked the rhetorical question 'where is Oscar?' to no-one in particular. He had wanted to come on this hike, like he always does, but just a little distance from the trail-head, he had stopped in the shade of a bay tree. And as I reached down to pick him up to carry him the rest of the walk, he did not resist as he often does. In fact sometimes, Oscar will do a little swerve like a receiver avoiding a tackle and gun his little engine to evade my attempt to pick him up. Like 'whoa Jill, no way, there's a smell wafting down this trail, and I'm gonna be right here at floor level when the source of the aroma comes into view'.

Oscar is and has been my visual muse for the last 3 years, since he came to stay for a few days and then pretty much refused to leave. He's 18 now, and I am more sentimental about him, with his belly smelling like basmati rice, than I am about any of my others. He has the worst breath - like a sewer on a hot day - and we've discussed endlessly the pros and cons of dental work, to remove the decaying teeth and treat chronic gum inflammations, but at his age the risks may outweigh the benefits. So, I just turn my head when he yawns. I have photographed him more than any dog I've ever known, and I'm not the only one. People I meet on my walks grab their phones and snap away while Oscar, oblivious to his stardom, ambles towards the small screens to nudge them, as if they were dog treats.

But yesterday, he hung limply in my arms and for a moment I thought his breathing had stopped. These trails that he had once bounded along are becoming hard on him, his back legs are clearly causing him discomfort. So two weeks ago, I started Oscar on an anti inflammatory analgesic which gives him an amazing lift for a couple of days, he virtually leaps from the car and goes stomping up to a dog 8 times his size, barking with the fervor of a younger guy. But this drug will shorten his life, by exacerbating the kidney problems he is already, like many old dogs, beginning to experience.

I am OK with this. And Oscar, I think, is also OK with this. I use the medication very sparingly, at most once a week, and only when I see him struggling like I did on the trail. These are the decisions animal lovers face and when we truly love them as dogs - not as extensions of ourself, not as emotional struts to get us through difficult emotional times - as animals who have no means to make these decisions themselves, then the decisions become easier.

Oscar races to the door each morning and evening for walks, springs from the sofa when I return, eats his food voraciously, poops perfect poops, pisses in the garden and not in the house, growls and barks at anything he chooses to growl and bark at and so far - wakes up every morning with a yawn and a stretch and a small smirk on his face as if to say - 'Fooled ya. Got another day to go'. I'll know when he doesn't want to fool me any more.