By Carole Marshall
In addition to aging, I write humorous animal stories. Lately, folks in my pet-loving community have been asking for a column that incorporates critters. It’s been a while since Aging in Good Spirits has gone in that direction. It’s a favorite writing topic.
To acknowledge reader requests, I’ll share this story that’s been idling in my notes file for a while. The tale gives voice to a sweet pup I had the privilege and pleasure of spending a few years with. It’s been fun resurrecting the memory.
The older I get, the more I’m in awe of the intelligence of dogs and cats and the more I realize the benefits of aging with these wise beings; they keep you active, teach the art of living in the now, and offer unconditional love. And they are perceptive.
For folks who truly believe in the intuitive nature of dogs and cats, let your imaginations soar by welcoming this week’s guest columnist, old dog Dusty Quinn (2012-2024) and his musings on living with an aging exercise fanatic.
“My wonderful, loving, considerate, patient owner, who tops off my meals with little pieces of cheese, brushes my coat, and who I really like, is a retired personal trainer!
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she says. ‘We need the exercise,’ she says. ‘Gotta keep our weight down, and aging bodies in top notch shape.’ I’m 12 years old and my last owner was a sedentary smoker.
I like casual walks as much as the next guy, but did I mention she worked for years as a personal trainer! Walking with this girl (even though she’s up there in years) is a whole different animal.
Our routes are super nice — towering pines, thick shrubs, winding trails in one direction, tall beach grass, sand and crashing waves in another. Lots of good peeing and pooping spots, and she exhibits a great deal of patience when I stop, but the rest of the time we’re moving. I am thankful for small favors; she’s no spring chicken anymore. While she once ran 6 miles a day, arthritis in her back and knees has changed her workout routine to less miles and walking, but walking with a former runner isn’t just schlepping along.
The old girl’s pace is impressive. I’m good for the first mile, staying in front, eagerly pulling on my leash, anxious to sniff that next bush. By the beginning of mile two, I’m beside her holding my head high as we pass grazing deer and that pokey fat Chihuahua. I’m proud to be matching her stride, but my little butt is starting to drag. Yippee, there’s the pier up ahead in the distance. Pretty sure we’re nearing the end of today’s trek. Sure glad I came up with a spectacular idea to get me through the last mile.
To save myself, I tap into both the sympathetic and competitive sides of my trainer girl. As we head into mile three, I shift from dragging to plopping my fluffy rump down on the pavement. She turns around, takes pity on my sad little face, to which I’ve added a drooping tongue, and finishes her workout carting me in her arms. She takes great delight in hefting 15 extra pounds. Panting now she tells me she’s burning more calories, building more muscle, bettering her fitness level. I knew she’d come to that conclusion. We finish our walk. She plants a kiss on top of my head, mumbles it was a good 3 miles, fills my water bowl before she takes her first gulp. I knew she’d do that; she’s such a mush where her critters are concerned. ‘You’re a good walking buddy,’ she says. I’m glad when I can help. Now, let’s go home to some well-deserved treats and a soft bed for this old furry bod.”
Your retired personal trainer here, and I’m still chugging along. My walks aren’t as much fun as they were with my dearly missed companion but I’m hoping, as they did with sweet Dusty, they’ll keep me fit. Walking has surely added to my good aging spirits and good health. My doc’s prescription for me, “Look both ways before crossing streets.”
Carole Marshall is a former newspaper columnist and feature writer for American Profile magazine. Her stories have been published in Chicken Soup for the Soul books. Reach her at cmkstudio2@gmail.com.
