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Posts Tagged ‘dog habits’

No, this is not a gushing post about my husband, despite me loving him so dearly. This time, my utmost affection is being solely directed to the other, most important creature in my life; my beautiful 15-year-old Jack Russell, Sasha.

Our poser Fur-Baby

To say she’s ‘mine’ was also not entirely correct (though my husband would beg to differ for the reason I’m about to disclose). He was the one who spotted and fell in love with her first, when he was working  in a mining town in another state, a few years before he met me. But from the moment I came into the picture, and caught her mid-air as she bounded and leapt to me, I was completely smitten with (back then) the precocious, cutest three-year-old puppy.

From that first, memorable meeting, a special ‘Mother-daughter’ bond was formed. I remember those days I didn’t have to go to University to attend lectures or meet up somewhere for group assignments; I would let my baby inside the house, and let her curl beside me whilst I read my textbooks, did my homework, or watched daytime soaps. Over time, she had extended this tradition by sitting on my lap, pressing the length of her little body either in-between my stretched-out legs or moulding the curve of her body perfectly to that my folded leg(s), her sigh indicating that all was well in her world.

It was a habit she carried on in the frequent occasions we let her sleep with us on our queen-, and later on king-sized bed. You’d think that she’d appreciate the space, happy to choose a corner spot, and sprawl herself silly? Apparently not! To our furkid, the most ideal sleeping arrangement was to press her back right up against one of our legs. There were many times that she had ‘kicked’ me inadvertently with her paws to stretch. And there were equally many times that both my husband and I ‘retaliated’ and bumped her purposely with our legs, or pushed her to where there was an abundant of space (mind you to no avail – the cheeky girl would always shuffle back to press herself against one of us).

Just like any other baby, the furkid grew up. Whereas in her prime, she loved to dig her way out of the backyard fence, happy to galavant and see the world far beyond what she witnessed when we took her on walks, as the years went by, she gradually lost interest in the outside world (thank goodness). Whereas before, she could last a whole day chasing after the much-worn out, much-loved tennis ball, the ageing doggie gradually lost the strength to run up and jump up on the bed. The times of playfully trying to devour other furkid’s head – something that at first horrified me – is now deemed as too much of an effort.

Slowly but surely, her hearing disappeared, and the opaque that affected her right eye grew larger. Shortly after her 13th birthday last year, she developed some kind of a breast tumour, which expanded the size of one of her nipples to… well, let’s just say unnaturally enormous. We went to one vet, who told us that given her age, putting her through surgery might mean she might never ever wake up again, and perhaps it would be best if we just make the rest of her short life as comfortably as we possibly could.

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