The Heart of an Old Dog

She was so tiny in her shelter photo, huddled up on a blanket. A perfect white ball of senior toy poodle, abandoned after her owner had died and the children didn’t want to take her on. They had brought her to the shelter to have her euthanized, but the shelter vet determined that she still had life in her, and so the adoption coordinator talked them into signing her over for the “fospice” program.

Her eyes looked so sad, like she knew the gravity everything.

I was not a “poodle person,” but I have always had a soft spot for old dogs. I called the shelter and said I would be right there to get her.

When the vet brought her out, she was even tinier than I thought. She was unsteady on her legs, and had a bad eye that was a milky blue rather than brown like the other one. She was perfect.

The vet, unable to consult a crystal ball, thought she had a couple weeks, maybe a couple months. I cuddled her close to me and swore we would have the best time.

Love is a powerful thing. Noodle lived for 54 weeks, more than anyone expected. I still believe it was because she was so very loved.

Noodle slept in bed with me every night, curled up in a little dog bed near my head. When she slept, her cheeks would puff out on her exhalations. Puff, puff.

I had her walk with me outside to build up her muscle tone and strength. She would totter with me to check on our chickens, or to enjoy a sunny day in the grass by the river. Noodles stamina and balance improved, and as her strength grew, so did her energy levels.

She went to work with me, setting up camp on a little dog bed on my desk. She was always happy if people stopped by and gave her a little treat and some love. My co-worker called her “Noods.”

I had thought dressing dogs was ridiculous, but Noodle amassed quite a closet, tiny dog dresses and sweaters that would hang on pink velvet baby hangers above the shoe rack. She had so many that I had to rotate them seasonally. Ridiculous, but she was always incredibly well dressed, and appropriately attired for holidays.

She loved bossing other dogs around, especially foster puppies. Noodle would throw her entire body into her ferocious barks, ears flopping as tossed her head backwards for extra emphasis. She was the boss, and she made sure they knew it. She also made sure the vacuum knew who was in charge, although with her limited eyesight, we are uncertain if she was aware what it was.

I had not anticipated how quickly and completely she would accept me as her person. It is safe to assume that if her former owner was an older individual, Noodle could have lived with her for her entire 14 years. But she embraced me as her new love, and followed me around the house. At night, she would cuddle up next to me while I knitted or watched TV.

And everyone loved her. Noodle was happy to be passed around, a sweet dog in doll trappings. Her groomer used pet-safe dye and give her pink ears and purple gumdrop feet. She charmed employees at Ross and Home Depot when we went shopping. Her size and innocent white curls belied a fierce poodle heart and loyalty.

About 10 months into our time together, I noticed signs of decline. She struggled with stairs and curbs. She became incontinent. She was exhausted and stressed at the groomer. But despite al of that, she was still happy to eat, and happy to share love with me. Making the final decision for an animal is a kindness, but it is incredibly hard. It brings so many questions: too soon? did I wait too long? Eventually, it was the clear that it was time.

Since Noodle passed, I have made it a point to always have a discarded senior dog. They are not hard to find in shelters, sadly. But they are no less deserving of magic than any other dog, and they are full of love that they want to bestow upon the lucky that give them comfort in their golden years. I encourage people to take them in - it will break your heart, but you will heal theirs.