(Originally posted on Facebook on Aug. 25, 2014)
When I went to try to post my latest blog entry I couldn’t freaking remember my password. I hate that! It took me at least 5 tries. This is sad, SAD. This means that I must make writing more of a priority. It also means that you will become more privy to my late night deep thoughts, where the quiet of the night lets introverts like me do our deepest, weirdest thinking. Brace yourself.
So here goes tonight’s rant. I have a golden retriever named Vegas. Vegas is 110 pounds of furry goodness all rolled into the most adorable creature you’ve ever seen. Seriously. Vegas is now 8 which means he’s entered the “old man” stage of doghood. He creaks, he’s slow, and he only gets up to move when absolutely necessary. A piece of perfectly cooked steak can literally hit him on the nose, bounce a few times, and land a few feet in front of him. He will eye the steak and telepathically communicate to me, saying: “Hey. Could you help a guy out here?” and will patiently wait for me to get up and bring him the bite. If Kirby tried to pull that crap I’d definitely tell him where he could stick it. But because Vegas is cute and old, he gets away with murder.
Vegas guarding my sick daughter. Seriously. Look at that face. How could he not get away with murder?
Having an older dog is definitely weird as a pet owner. I’m used to Vegas sleeping all the time. He’s a dog and that’s what they do. But now, I catch myself checking to make sure he’s still breathing. I am also making it a priority to spend time with him each evening when he is the most playful. And it totally sucks to see your pet grow older and realize that your time with a beloved friend is winding down to an end.
Is this how it’s going to feel when we get to be that old? So old that people check to make sure we’re still breathing? So old that we realize our loved ones are coming around more just because they know that we could be gone any second? Or where loved ones stop coming by altogether because they begin grieving and missing us before we are even gone? Or worse-where they just don’t care?
Death is such a weird concept. It feels so far off until the day it doesn’t.
I feel like there are so many people just waiting to die. This world isn’t good for them and they are just waiting for the next best thing. Then there are those people that live life to the fullest, people like my grandmother that are in their 90’s still going on cruises and watching Wheel of Fortune and Young and the Restless, all while wearing the most bling they can fit onto their bodies and their brightest reddest lipstick.
My first 38 years have flown by. I can only imagine that the next 50 are going to go even faster. I don’t know how I’m going to feel at 90 or if people will be checking on my breathing after I fall asleep in my chair watching old episodes of Breaking Bad and Louie. I do know, however, that I intend to squeeze every drop of life out of my limited time.