An old dog can teach an old dog new tricks

My crotchety old lady dachshund, Coco, has been remarkably healthy

throughout her long life. But in keeping with her program to shape us

up periodically, her handful of health emergencies have all taken

place either on weekends, holidays or both. The most recent was over

Memorial Day.

When she didn’t respond to our calls on that Saturday, we went

looking and found her dragging herself painfully through the grass in

our backyard with her head cocked at a sharp angle, as if she were

listening intently to something we were saying. The signs clearly

suggested a stroke, and our vet was shut down for the holiday. So we

bundled her up and took her to the nearest emergency clinic.

The doctor on duty, a philosophical sort, verified the possibility

of a stroke, but said all of her life signs were strong. He gave her

a shot of something and told us to take her to her regular vet when

they were back in business. He also asked Coco’s age, and after we

told him she was almost 16 years old, I could only hope that she

couldn’t hear us because we are careful not to talk about her age in

front of her.

But I thought about it a lot over the next few days when we

coddled her, carried her up and down steps and allowed her privileges

normally denied her. She wouldn’t touch any food and her head

remained cocked, but she slowly regained the use of her legs. By the

time we got her to her regular doctor, she was walking almost

normally.

So instead of suggesting any draconian measures or making

extensive tests, her vet sent us home with several medications to be

tapered off and a new diagnosis. Coco’s problem, she said, is

probably Old Dog Syndrome, and we should delay any further treatment

while keeping a close eye on how she does.

Well, as it turns out, she’s doing just fine. The only thing left

of the original symptoms is a slight tilt of her head, which is

somewhat off-putting because she seldom pays much attention to what

we say to her, especially if it’s something she doesn’t want to hear.

This is probably in equal parts deafness and bullheadedness, and has

been going on for a long time.

It was also suggested to us that we carry her up and down stairs,

including the two up to our kitchen door. This was first recommended

by the vet six years ago when Coco was having some back problems and

pushing 70 in human age. It never worked, and we gave it up quickly.

Blocking the steps only incited her to get over or around the

barriers. She won that one hands down.

She will soon be 112 in human years, and we’ve had to restrain her

since her last trip to the vet from jumping up on couches four times

her height, which she has demonstrated she can still do. One other

residue of her crisis is occasional incontinence, which could also be

caused by her irritation with us for some slight or our ignoring her

calls for help.

She’s eating voraciously again -- anything she can get her tiny

jaws around -- and she flies up and down the steps to reach her food,

but drags up pitifully if it is leading to something she doesn’t want

to do. And she looks at the world, which she neither hears nor sees

very well, with her head cocked. Maybe it will always be that way.

Meanwhile, I’ve switched to pondering the Old Dog Syndrome and how

it applies to my life. Coco has been a role model for me ever since

she started to reach and then pass my age. We are both hard of

hearing, stubborn, a little slippery, iconoclastic and enjoy the

small events of life. I’m sure she would like baseball if she could

still see.

She seems to sense that we share these qualities because she hangs

out with me most of the time. When she isn’t sleeping, she will often

just sit and watch me, ready to move the instant I do. I find this a

little disconcerting since it implies more dependence on me than I

care to take on. I’ve caught myself more than once telling this

ancient creature who was tagging me about to “get a life.”

But since I’ve been introduced to Old Dog Syndrome, I’ve been

reversing our relationship. Now, I’ve taken to watching Coco and

trying to figure out what she can teach me. I figure anybody who

reaches 112 and still jumps four times her height must have some

secret of longevity that is worth exploring.

So far, I’ve perceived that the most obvious component of her

behavior that contributes to this secret is the cavalier way she

refuses to acknowledge the limitations that most of us embrace

routinely with age. She still runs frantically about the house when

we return from an evening out, is contemptuous of physical challenges

that interest her, and joins every barking chorus of neighborhood

dogs. I’m not suggesting that this should inspire me to take up

running the hurdles again, which would be stupid. But Coco does seem

to be telling me that maybe tennis isn’t out of reach, and I don’t

have to buy automatically into the politically correct limitations of

aging -- at least without a fight.

She also offers a different slant on what we like to call common

sense. Her refusal to accept the barriers on the stairway is a case

in point. That told us, finally, that we should leave her alone to

find her own parameters of behavior. If she failed, she’d either keep

trying or move on. And as long as that search wasn’t hurting anyone

else, why not?

There’s a certain amount of risk involved and always the

possibility of failure or rejection. But she’s in charge and telling

me that anyone -- dachshund or human -- suffering from Old Dog

Syndrome who wants to take that risk should give it a shot.

So I’m adopting Coco’s laissez-faire attitude toward aging. I’m

not sure how it will play out, but it’s going to be a lot more fun

while it lasts.

For starters, it will add to the enjoyment of the trip my wife and

I are taking to visit old friends in North Carolina for my birthday

on the Fourth of July.

* JOSEPH N. BELL is a resident of Santa Ana Heights. His column

appears Thursdays.