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I call this Argus Paw Perspective. Took it at about 1 o'clock in the morning. (August 22, 2006)
File Under: Argus; I Took This Photo!; Panasonic DMC-LX1K Lumix Digital Camera; Photograph, Digital Manipulation/Composite
Sheriff is an old dog. Because he is a rescue of unknown origin, we'll never know for sure how old he is, but most would agree that he's older than the Red Dog was when... well, you know.
Sometime in the next couple of weeks, I'll be bringing The Boys in for their annual check-up with the good Dr. Guhrt. Among other things, we will be discussing a couple of issues regarding The Black and Tan.
He's developed this weird habit of pooping in weird places. Like in our house. Like in the middle of the street. Candy and I are convinced that he doesn't seem to know when he's done and starts walking away (or inside the house) while he's still “dropping bombs on the White House lawn” (with apologies to Style Council). It's almost like some kind of backwards BM incontinence. Fortunately, right now, it's not that big of a problem and he doesn't seem to be bothered by it. So if this is the worst part of him getting old, we'll take it.
His hips, though, are getting worse. “Little by little” doesn't sound like much, but add it up over days, weeks, months, years and all of a sudden you realize that straw came down between the camel humps a while ago. We went through this with the Old Man (i.e., Chaunce) and he had pretty good hips. More often that not, you can see Sheriff swaying side to side because he's weak. Again some good news: he doesn't seem to be in any pain, but it's only a matter of time before he hurts himself. We already have to be careful about Argus knocking his down and we'll only have to be more dilligent.
We are seriously considering picking some wheels for The Old Dog. Check out your Link of the Day for more info. Of course, I'll keep you posted if we head that way.
Then we've got The Whippersnapper. Argus has the worst hips of any dog I've ever had (remember the x-ray?), but he's as insistently active as the Red Dog ever was.
A couple months ago, when he and I were going for a ride to The Greenway, he leaped into the car with those strange mechanics of his and I whispered to him, “That little move of yours won't always be so easy. Don't worry, though... I'll be here to lift you into the car when you need it.”
The Black and Brown didn't even feign an expression of understanding. He just paced back and forth impatiently on the backseat while I climbed into the car and fumbled with the keys. Soon enough, we were shooting down the road and he was sticking his nose out the back window sniffing and snorting as if he could suck the whole world through those almost dime-sized nostrils of his.
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