It was my birthday yesterday. I was 9. In dog years that makes me about the same age as my dad, but I’m in way better nick than him.
For starters, his coat is 50 shades of grey (I told mum this and she perked up for some reason) whereas I barely have a single grey hair. I’m the same vision of liver and white loveliness I was as a pup. He’s got grey hair in places I didn’t even know humans had hair.
Ok, I’m getting the odd one around my muzzle, but that’s from the worry. When I think of the stunts Rudy has pulled over the years, it’s a wonder he’s still alive. Mum’s not much better, though at least she’s not jumped off a cliff…yet.
Dad’s joints are knackered, whereas I’m still pretty flexible. It’s as painful to watch him do yoga as it is for him to do it. Even mum can do downward facing dog. Dad’s more downward facing ironing board! None of us can compete with Rudy, but I’ve long suspected him of being part cat.
I can still do 20kph if I wanted to. Dad? He’s lucky if he can do that on his bike. Though to be fair, he is a half iron man. The other half is beer. Again, it sickens us both though that mum and Rudy can skin us both for pace without much effort. But what we lack in pace, me and dad make up for in strength. As they both find out when we eventually catch them.
I must admit, I do have a few fatty lumps which are a sign of aging in dogs…and humans it seems. At least mine can be removed. Dad’s beer gut is here to stay.
Overall, I think me and dad are doing well for our middle age. Still, he’s never quite got over our former neighbour thinking he was mum’s father. Mum laughed at that for weeks.
But she cheats. That hair would be pure badger if she didn’t get it dyed and she wears make-up to hide the bags under her eyes. And let’s not forget the fillers…the chips and chocolate she eats to keep her face youthfully plump. She also hides her fatty lumps with well-cut clothes.
Me and dad are as nature intended us, and there’s life in the old dogs yet.