I am slowly coming to accept that I am not the young buckette (is that doe?) I once was. I had a crash course in recognizing my limitations when I got sick. Now I know that I won’t run any more marathons, climb any more mountains, or participate in any more aerobics classes that will cause me to break a sweat.
But every so often I forget. Occasionally I try to run a little bit and my body quickly reminds me to stop. I seem to be the last person leaving every yoga class I attend–I roll my mat and collect my things at a snail’s pace. Everything takes longer than it used to when I was youthful. I moved with vigour once, but now I’m slow as molasses. In fact, recently I gave up rushing altogether, and I must say I don’t miss it.
I’m not the only one who is aging. Jelly turned 7 last month, which means she is now a doggy senior. Although she looked like a puppy until a year or two ago–even dogs want to believe they look younger than they are–even her little red eyelashes are now turning grey. I’ve noticed she’s never been asked for identification for a senior’s discount.
There are other signs of Jelly’s advancing age: she is more likely to amble than gambol when we visit the park. Still, we go there so she can venture as far as she wants that day and visiting with her four-legged friends. I do miss the days when she’d chase her peers over hill and dale, barking frantically as she brought up the rear, “Wait for me! Wait for me!”
Except for last Friday morning, when Jelly temporarily forgot that she too is no young buckette anymore. She met up with Kona, a lovely tall greyhound cross, who seemed intent on a running mate. Kona egged Jelly on persistently, resulting in an all-out no-holds-barred chase around the park. Kona was born to run. She easily outpaced Jelly, who persevered nonetheless, cutting the odd corner when she needed to. Jelly fought the good fight, until she tanked, whereupon she slowly limped back to the car.
I knew exactly how Jelly would feel following that romp. I knew she would regret running herself ragged, but there was no way I could convince her to pass on the opportunity. We all need to learn from experience. Has anyone ever heeded the wisdom of elders?
I was not surprised that Jelly spent most of the weekend recuperating. Will her stiffness stop her from trying to outrace the next greyhound that wants to be chased? Probably not. She’s a dog, and she does not always learn from experience. Come to think of it, neither do I.
But all is not lost. Despite Jelly’s recent stiffness and fatigue, every time the wind blows, she rises from lounging and leaps off the deck, positioning herself under the apple tree in case a delicious snack happens to fall. Each time, I drag myself agedly out of my chair, thereby granting Jelly ample time to wolf down her spoils. Jelly’s body may be old, but, at least when it comes to food, her mind is forever young.