For all the comic remarks we have made about lovable old Shane and his quirks, he certainly showed how well he could learn yesterday. We have been working with the whistle and on the way up to Mother’s, he barked at a couple of cars and I whistled and said, “NO” and then told him good boy when he stopped. On the way home he barked at no one, nada, zilch. While we were out back I introduced him to quick little tweets with his name following. And he came. Repeatedly.

People here think I was cruel when I only took Shane and left Sydney here. They  remarked that well, he’s old, what does it matter if he overdoes and dies. In my mind, a dog will push and push himself to please, to do the activities he has always done. He’s almost blind, deaf and is the equivalent of a 93 1/2 year old man – if you go by doggie years. He fights pancreatitis and he’s not nimble anymore. I can’t pretend this isn’t the case and let him be uncomfortable trying to keep up.

There are many movies we have watched together on this porch, me with my eyes on the TV and he with his head in a pillow on the other end of the sofa. He’s there now as I am typing. He makes Shane stay away from me at night; he sleeps by me. When he eats, I sit with him – and it’s roast or chicken and rice, with dog food mixed in for vitamins.

And, besides, when Shane was doing well with the whistle, he took a minute to roll in the tall grass . . . and I drove home with a non-barking dog that smelled like the barnyard. All windows were down. You know, senior citizens can only take so much of the elementary group.