Letting Sleeping Dogs Lie - the story of an old dog and what was once my chair

This is Digger.

 

Sleeping Digger

 

Digger is our oldest dog. He is a Maltese rescued from Tenn and we don’t have a clue as to how old he is, we only know that he has arthritis, is missing a lot of teeth, has a hole in his sinuses, has tumors, is blind, and can’t hear a thing.

But that’s all okay because we love this dog to death.

See this chair? It used to be where I sat when I read the paper and drank my coffee in the morning but then Digger discovered it.

Let sleeping dogs lie, I say.

And see that blanket? It’s not really a blanket, it’s a winter coat that one of the kids has outgrown. We use it to keep our little dog-whose hair is thinning as quickly as any old man’s- warm now that the weather has gotten cold.

After Digger wakes and goes outside and then has a bite or two to eat, we wrap him in the jacket and little dog shirts and let him sleep the day away. Everyone who passes the chair either calls out to him “Good boy, Digg” knowing that he can’t hear our good wishes or gives him a quick pat on his head being careful not to put pressure on a cyst up there. When we want to wake him, we have to create vibrations by thumping on the chair’s arm rest so that he can “feel” us calling to him.

He’s no bother to anyone. And while I know that his body is slowly shutting down and that someday – probably sooner rather than later – Digger will no longer be with us – until he’s in pain or discomfort, he’s welcome to my chair, our blankets, our kisses, and hugs.

Let sleeping dogs lie, I say.

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