Dog Sitting

If you are a grandparent, sooner or later you will become a dog sitter. If you happen to be one of those rare uninitiated persons, here is a hint: Dog sitting is kind of like babysitting except it’s harder. In the first place, you are dog sitting not for your children, but for your grandchildren. And their standards of required care for their beloved pooch are much, much higher. No tying the dog outside to a drafty old dog house, no siree, dogs nowadays are accustomed to sleeping inside, preferably on a bed – with blankets for those drafts that can suddenly arise from the night air. And, just so you don’t forget, the grandkids will be checking up on you, asking how Fido is enjoying your pillow.

Generally you’ll be dog sitting at home during the winter months while the kids and grandkids are vacationing somewhere that is warm, probably enjoying time on the beach. Meanwhile, you will be suiting up in your cold weather parka with you and the dog taking several trips outdoors so the dog can do his business. This can be annoying if it has snowed several inches and it is too dark to avoid stepping in a pile –  the dog won’t warn you about this either. Even more annoying is when you take the dog out and he doesn’t go …until later, when you don’t want to go back outdoors for the third or fourth time and you especially don’t want to be picking up frozen poop that was left on the sidewalk because the dog wouldn't trudge through the snow.

Dog sitting also means entertaining the mutt. Surely you didn’t think the dog only needs to be fed, watered, pooped, and put to bed, did you? High- strung dogs of today’s ilk need entertainment beyond a few simple dog toys; otherwise you can expect chewed furniture, broken lamps, upturned wastebaskets and other symptoms of doggy boredom, according to experts (and grandchildren who are knowledgeable in such matters). This means you must play with the dog, not canasta or bridge mind you, more like 'throw-the-stuffed-animal' or a game of 'tug' on the chewed, dog saliva-coated toy while the dog growls and jumps around your living room threatening to break the television. I've found dog games like these are not particularly enjoyable for older adults. Instead, I keep my parka handy for regular walks so the dog can sniff out secret places where other dogs have done their business and mark the same spot with his particular odor. It is kind of doggy Facebook and it keeps dogs entertained just like people.

So you probably have guessed that I am dog sitting just now. Here is my charge, Pocket. She is a pup – that means she is even harder to understand than an older animal.

 

 

This is her personal bean bag chair that she likes to make into a bed.

 

The cage provides her personal space.

 

She arrived with her own coat and luggage (the overnight bag) and lots of toys that now decorate our living room floor.

Here she is asking me when we are going outside again.

 

She really is kind of cute, don’t you think? I have to finish this blog since she just told me she is hungry, besides, she and I will be watching Jeopardy together after our walk.

Bill's Birthday Blog

Bill’s Birthday Blog

 

Since my 72^nd  birthday is days away, I decided to give you my thoughts on the matter. You may be surprised to learn I have thoughts – especially for one as old as me.

Aha – I saw you shaking your heads yes.

Well, the fact is that I have been doing research on aging and I have learned some startling facts about older North Woods men. I learned these things with great difficulty since no one knows just how old north woods men are - after around age 55, northerners begin to look the same and no one talks about their age. The men dress the same, host identical haircuts [for those of us with any remaining hair] and complain about the same infirmities. Hence, aging here in the north woods is something of a mystery. One of the north woods secrets I learned is that life becomes easier despite all the complaining and misinformation about aging. The misinformation and stereotypes about old men have become so ingrained in our society that even Facebook has regular features about the foibles of the older set. Let’s take these topics one at a time.

Yes, I’m turning 72 and I am neither ashamed nor embarrassed about it. Yes, my joints sometimes creak and I make other unexpected noises sometimes. Yes, I am surprised that I sometimes have trouble doing things that used to be a little easier, make that a lot easier. That’s the downside. The upside of my advanced age is that I have made so many mistakes over the years there are fewer things left for me to foul up, so the sailing is generally a little smoother.

For example, being an older north woodsman means having to make fewer decisions about what to wear on a daily basis. Winter’s uniform is blue jeans and flannel shirts with shorts and tee shirts being the preferred style in summer. North woodsmen can express our individual tastes by selecting colored tee shirts or colored flannels (only applicable to those who, unlike me, are able to distinguish one color from another) and/or shirts that have some advertising on the front and are therefore considerably lower cost. Dressing like this is easier for us decrepit old souls, don’t you see.

The misinformation about aging is everywhere on the internet. I can’t tell you how many times I have received stories about old duffers who have failing memories and likewise, failing body parts. Just today, I saw a story today about how men change the recreational games they enjoy as they age. In their youth they play basketball and football, then graduate to baseball and finally switch to golf. The author of this piece concluded that men progressively switch to smaller balls as their age increases and their testosterone decreases. Of course, I have no first-hand information on this and I suspect the topic needs more study.

Last week the internet furnished another story about aging. It was supposedly written by an old sod who was beginning to forget things. He detailed his day and told about working on one job after another that he failed to complete because some other job became apparent and took precedence. The many jobs around the house and their urgency prompted him to lose track of his tools and other things as he scurried from one job to another. He said he worked all day long and didn’t get much done. It was a symptom of his age-related forgetfulness the author seemed to say with a wink and a smile.

“Balderdash,” I say. The man wasn’t necessarily forgetful, he simply had too much on his plate. The fact that he couldn’t find his reading glasses for two days simply means he didn’t need them that badly or he wouldn’t have lost them. The man lost focus, I’d say. Any man with too many tasks and too little help from the distaff side is subject to similar problems, I think.

Our leaders in government don’t help. One of my pet peeves about aging is how we oldsters are assaulted by politicians who want to get their hands on the handouts the government has promised us. I’m talking Social Security and Medicare here, and how the politicos are suggesting so called fixes to the non-existent problems of these programs. Their suggested solutions inevitably end up with us getting less and them getting more. I think it is part of the “trickle down theory” where the cash trickles from us to them.

You may know that life expectancy for men has increased from 58 years by more than 20 years since the beginning of Social Security in 1930. Since I’m proud of the fact that I have reached the stately old age of 72, I plan to celebrate. My lovely wife and I are planning to travel to a dance this weekend and then we’ll have a nice romantic dinner on the way home. Beyond that, I don’t know, although I have some limitations. For one thing, I have been awfully busy with a number of jobs around the house. Furthermore, I need to find a few things I have misplaced that are essential for the jobs I need to do. I’ll let you know how everything gets straightened when I have a few thoughts and time for another blog.

 

Almost 72 year-old Bill