Peaceable Man Files #65: Grow Old Along With Me

Random musings on my vagabond existence in the Endless Mountains of Pennsylvania and wherever else life takes me.

My German Shorthair Pointer, Cassie, turns ten today.

In human years, we are now about the same age, which is to say that we are both getting old.

Thankfully, Cassie remains in good health. At ten years old, she is still strong, still muscular, still pulls me around the block like a sled when I take her for a walk on the leash, but she is definitely starting to show her age.

Her eyebrows, like mine, have gone gray. Like me, she doesn’t have quite the same spring in her step as she used to. Sometimes she needs a little help getting into the back of the car for the two-hour drive up to our mountain house.

Her zoomies, which used to go on for ten minutes, leaving a trail of destruction across the house, now last ten seconds before they fizzle out. She grows tired more quickly these days and is less prone to jump headlong into the brush to go after a rabbit as we walk the fields at our mountain property.

At the end of a long day as she lays on the sofa next to me, I can see the weariness in her eyes, a look that says—How did I get old, Dad? How did we get old?

It’s a question I ask myself a lot these days. It seems like yesterday that I was the youngest person in the room. It seems like yesterday that I brought Cassie home from the breeder as an eight-week-old puppy, ten pounds of pure cuteness and trouble.

I called her my demon doggy. She escaped from pens like a Houdini. She chased the cat through the house. She chewed up shoes and slippers. She dug holes in the cushions to make a bed. She careened like a fish on a line when I took her for walks.

She was nuts and remained nuts for the first three years until finally all the training kicked in and she became somewhat manageable. Cassie was my first GSP, and I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I wanted a sporting dog that would match my active lifestyle and I could do some bird hunting with.

I didn’t know that would mean walking this dog ten times a day and making sure she had time to run for at least half an hour a day. All that energy in her muscular, athletic body needed to go somewhere. If it wasn’t expended outside, it would be expended inside the house.

I think it’s safe to say that, regardless of the breed, we never fully know what we’re getting into when we get a dog—all the work, the trouble, the sacrifices, the expense. With Cassie, I would say the biggest surprise has been the physical exhaustion that comes along with owning a GSP.

Cassie, as my wife likes to say, is “a lot of dog.” Unlike me who grew up with bigger dogs, Rachael is used to toy poodles and Cavachons that can sit in her lap without fuss. While she loves Cassie, she tells me in no uncertain terms that there will be no more GSPs after her. They are simply too energetic, too crazy.

All that is true, and yet after ten exhausting years with Cassie, I can say that I just love this dog and this breed. I love their intelligence, their spirit, their poise, their loyalty and eagerness to please. Give a GSP the proper training, and they will do everything you ask them to do.

They are so sweet and loving, too. Not once in all the time I’ve owned her has Cassie ever growled at a person or another dog. Not once has she snapped at anyone. Any damage she has done to people or objects around the house has been the result of good-natured rambunctiousness.

When it comes to the physical demands of owning a GSP, I remind myself that what exhausts you also makes you strong. All those steps she makes me do on a daily basis—more than 10,000 on average—are helping to keep me healthy.  

Cassie is my live-in personal trainer. She gets me up off the couch and moving even when I don’t want to. Every night after dinner, she is dragging me outside for a post-dinner walk. Is it not the sign of a true friend who pushes us to stay healthy, even to the point of being a nag?

My ten years with Cassie have been among the best years of my life. I’ve traveled, gotten married, seen my kids successfully launched in the world, launched a second career as an author, published books, built my mountain house.

Over that time, I’ve also changed my home, had two hip replacements, and gone through the agony of losing both of my parents. Through all the changes, Cassie has been there, my steady companion.

She listens with head cocked as I talk to her. She knows my moods, knows when I’m upset or angry and is eager to make me feel better by licking my face or grabbing a toy to play with. 

She knows me, I know her. We are so simpatico that I need only point my finger for her to do what I want her to do.

She is the best dog I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a bunch in my lifetime. I know Rachael won’t mind when I say that Cassie is my best friend, because she knows what kind of friend I’m talking about.

I’m aware that my time with Cassie is running out. Cassie’s mother was about her age when she died. I must maximize the time I have with her, just as I need to make the most of the time I have with Rachael, my kids, and my siblings.

The tragedy of owning a dog is that we exist on different timelines. We get to see them from the time they are a puppy until the day they break our heart, while they only witness a slice of our life.  

It’s a powerful bond, but an uneven one. All the more reason to cherish every moment we get with man’s best friend.

Happy birthday, crazy Cassie!