HEART BEAT AT MY FEET Caring for the Ageing

It really can't be a coincidence that the word dog spelt backwards is God. Just can't. They have to be special creatures that God created with all His love. And please don't spoil it for me by saying their ancestors were wolves. That's just so hard to believe.

Especially when you have a sweet, cuddly one like my little Tasha. Tasha with the softest eyes that make mine tear up, each time she looks up directly and so innocently into mine as I cradle her.

And cradle her a lot I do, these days. Read somewhere that we must touch and hold, hug and kiss our ageing dogs as much as possible. And not just that, we must also talk to them as much as we can. In warm tones, in whispers. Repeat all that we used to say to them when they were little pups and gave us so much joy. They know they are now slow and must never be made to feel low.

Tasha, who turned 14, has suddenly let go. Lost interest in life. It has been too obvious to not notice. Her basket of toys remains untouched. The same toys that drove her totally mad. How she would run to it, sniff around, pull out exactly the one she wanted to play with. If her favourite one had been shuffled to the bottom of the pile, she would dig her chin in, shifting around until she got the one she wanted. It breaks my heart to see she has no use for them now. But I still can't give them away. I dangle them in front of her, one at a time, in the hope that it will get her started, but no, she is not interested.