“I want to adopt a senior dog, but…”

In which Jill suggests that when it comes to adopting a senior pet, it’s best not to make any assumptions.

Let’s face it. Getting a pet is a crap shoot. Before we adopt our new dog or cat or bunny, we envision how idyllic life will be. We will be Large and In-Charge. After all, we potty-trained our Brussels Griffon (that’s “Griffon Bruxellois” to you, Pascal) in a record 6-1/2 days (not counting the malformed cow poop on your Aunt Sasha’s meditation cushion, but that was her fault for shutting the French doors).

So, how hard could this Belgian Malinois be? They’re such a smart breed! Plus, he’s big, so he’ll sleep a lot.

Even the most savvy pet parents have a “WTF have I done?” moment with new dogs. Sometimes, OTHER people ask, “WTF have you done?” (Hi, Aunt Sasha!)

My point is: Every new pet is an individual, promising experiences you simply can’t anticipate. There will be unforeseen situations, good and bad, and fresh insights added to the others you’ve accumulated over your pet-owning years.

This brings me to adopting senior dogs. We make too many assumptions about them. We figure that a 10-year-old pit bull will have a year or two to live. Or that senior dogs all have ACL tears. Or that a dog with cancer is fospice. While these might be true, they’re just as likely to be wrong. Your story with one dog won’t necessarily predict your story with another.

We adopted our pit bull, Pinky, with an aggressive spindle cell sarcoma when she was 10. She also had a mast cell tumor “just to keep it interesting” as our veterinary oncologist remarked. She gave Pinky three months to live. Pinky, now 12, is at this very moment stalking ground squirrels in our backyard, occasionally munching on a clump of grass. Who knew?

When you read the title of this blog post, you were probably thinking about short life spans, high medical bills, and in-home euthanasia. We just helped two adopters let their seniors cross the rainbow bridge, and both left the earthly world peacefully, at home, knowing they were surrounded by love. It sucks.

This transition is such a small part of the dog’s story. Cash spent his days lying upside down on the couch in the sun filtering through the living room window. He loved running with other dogs. At his happiest, his smile was almost human, and totally irresistible.

Orson loved leisurely neighborhood walks, stopping to smell the flowers, accompanied by his maltipoo brother Oliver in a doggie stroller. Orson wore a bell around his neck that jingled, portending his arrival, as if he weren’t the local bulldog, but the ice cream man. He was an unofficial mascot and everyone adored him.

Then there’s Grayson. He came to West Valley shelter in July, a 10-year-old pit bull who had wonderful kennel manners and was polite with other dogs. Despite busting stereotypes, Grayson lingered at the shelter. “I love him,” lamented a potential adopter, “but I just can’t handle losing another one.” It was as if any minute Grayson would be given last rites.

But Grayson defied the odds. A couple visited him at the shelter, and the woman convinced her husband that Grayson was worth saving. Three days later, Grayson’s new mom, Marie, wrote this to West Valley volunteer, Ian:

“Ian, it’s Marie, the girl who took Grayson yesterday. I’m not certain if everything is really as it seems with him because he is such a dream…I am so thankful that you actually took him out and showed him to us, he is simply perfect thank you thank you thank you. I hope this is really him.”

Then some smiley emojis for good measure. Like you do.

It’s natural to dread premature endings or high medical bills for seniors. They happen. But isn’t it better to be astonished by your luck at having known them and knocked sideways by the absolute joy they’ve brought you?

I think so, too.