On the day after my colonoscopy, I took the black dog Shady for a walk up the road. It felt good to be back on my feet and confident I could be more than ten feet from the toilet. Shady was feeling good too. She had missed a couple of days of walks. She’s getting to be a middle-aged dog, but she’s still got spunk.
As we passed Edna’s house, Shady spotted her favorite quarry, a squirrel, and started her stalk. That’s one stupid squirrel, I thought. Shady’s a border-collie mutt, and she can outrun a squirrel on the straightaway seven days a week. Now she was in a full sprint toward the squirrel and it just sat there. I thought, There’s a goner. But the squirrel didn’t run. It just tipped over, and Shady pulled up short. My dog is a chaser, not a catcher. On the few occasions that she’s ended up with a squirrel in her maw, she seemed more surprised than her quarry. This was such a moment.
Something was wrong with this squirrel. It seemed too scrawny, its backbone visible through its pelt, which was damp and knappy. Lacking balance, it crab-walked toward an oak. But then it couldn’t climb the oak. The squirrel was clearly in difficulties. Shady let it be. It’s not sporting to chase an invalid.
It struck me then that the squirrel could just have been aging. And how rare that is, to see a wild animal showing its age. A wild animal is either in peak form, or it has been predated. And you sure don’t see it then. But here was this old squirrel, and here was this black dog, and here was her owner, showing his age, and feeling sympathetic with all creatures.
