It’s a dog’s life for Loki – and if we’re lucky, maybe we could have more dog-like lives too. Photo: Zoe Cartwright.
I made a drastic error this week.
My dog, Loki, aka “Stinky Old Man” in honour of his nuclear farts and grey muzzle, turned 13.
I idly wondered how long staffies live for and consulted the rectangular oracle in my pocket.
Fourteen years, it told me.
This seems grossly inadequate.
Ever the optimist, I live in hope he will crack the ripe old age of 16, or more, as our family dog did before he finally went to the big farm in the sky.
But knowing Loki’s on a countdown timer has made me look at our life – because let’s be honest, when you love a dog it isn’t just your life anymore.
Full disclosure: I love my dog a sickening, ridiculous amount. If you don’t love your dog a sickening, ridiculous amount, this column is probably not for you.
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Through the brutally clear lense of mortality it turned out there are plenty of things I spend my time and money on that just don’t add up.
Why spend hours at a gym each week when I could be running on the beach with my best mate?
Maybe he doesn’t run so fast or far anymore. Maybe my workouts will be suboptimal, but how many more times will I get to watch him lollop along beside me, huge smile on dial, tongue hanging out for sheer joy?
Compared to that, does it matter if the 5k time of this mid-30s recreational athlete gains or loses a few minutes?
We’ve put off hydrotherapy for his hips – he doesn’t recover from those runs as easily as he used to – but it would cost less per month than my gym membership.
Bargain, really.
Ice cream has been off the menu for a while, what with a wedding dress to fit into and a sport to make weight for.
Loki has never cared what dress size I am, or if I bring home a plastic medal on the weekend. Sharing an ice-cream cone in the car together, however, is one of his great joys in life.
His feet start tippy-tapping the second he realises we’re going to the drive-through.
He just manages to contain himself while I take the first few licks of soft-serve before devouring the rest in messy, delighted bites.
How many times will I get to laugh at his ice-cream covered face?
Car trips, ice cream, a run on the beach, a cuddle on the sofa, a comfy place to sleep at night, a good friend. It doesn’t take much to make Loki happy.
I know plenty of people, more eloquent than I, have written about how dogs make us see what’s important in life.
But I wonder if they’re also here to make us realise its brevity.
I don’t know how many chances I have left to run on the beach with Loki, but I know I can’t get back any of the ones I pass up.
Most of us go to work and do our best and take that mindset into our home lives. We try to optimise, maximise, life-hack, be the best we can be.
Maybe the real life-hack is remembering the things that bring us deep joy and doing them every chance we get.
Maybe it’s remembering that we don’t get an infinite number of chances to run on the beach, or eat an ice cream with a friend, and then remembering to jump at every chance we get.
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