Here is another thing. I think it is terrible to bring a cold weather snow dog with layers of hair that are impervious to bitter winds and snow to live in SC. But I didn't do that, my son did. Switzer was my grand dog until my son moved to Hawaii to work and left him in my care. This macho man's dog with a reputation for putting a tooth into any suspect who was unknown to him, turned into the most loving, gentle creature that ever existed. He flourished in my care and basked in my attention. That's when he started getting his summer haircuts so he'd not have to suffer in the Columbia summer blazes. It was gradual, but we became devoted to each other. Switzer and I bonded as an inseparable team and he became a four-legged person instead of a dog, much like the prince instead of the frog. He actually had a way of thanking me for the haircuts in a dance, he listened willingly to the topics of concern in my life with steady eye contact and great feeling. When the mood was light he gave generous tail wags all at the right time during the conversation. But remarkably he also learned to talk and communicate in a way that I could usually understand. It's true. Scary. To this day--blind as he is and deaf as a board--he will occasionally come find me to tell me something. It is harder for me to understand him--mostly because he can no longer make eye contact to communicate clearly what he wants to say, but none-the-less he knows I listen and try my best to figure out what he needs or wants. After all the times he has listened to my concerns with words he didn't quite understand fully in our two-way conversations, I more than owe it to him to listen and respond to his concerns as best I can. But I digress.

I have always been able to count on him to welcome me back home even if I've only been gone ten minutes or ten days. Now that he is blind, the way he finds me is through his sense of smell and he comes close enough to touch my lower leg gently with his nose, which is so sweet and touching that I have grown fond of it. That is how he knows where I am and lets me know he is there.

As you know, some dogs smile with their tails. Switzer does. When he was just 14 and going blind the first time, he had cataract surgery which totally restored his sight. What a miracle that seemed to be to him. When he awoke from the anesthesia, he looked around in disbelief at the surgical equipment which all of a sudden he could see; the lights, the room, and up to the face of the surgeon at which point Switzer looked straight into the surgeon's eyes and gave a tail wag. Later, after Switzer was on his feet and able to come to the waiting room to meet me, he looked around the room, spied me, and headed straight over in a fast trot to tell me the news and dance a little dance. Not only was I in tears, so were the surgeon and his assistant, too. They said only rarely do they see a dog that is so immediately aware of the vision change and responsive to them about what they have done. He thanked them directly for restoring his sight and they got the message. It must have seemed a miracle to Switzer, but it also seemed so to me that my blind dog could see again. I even shed tears remembering it now, the way it touched me then and the way it touches me now--especially because he can no longer see due to retina degeneration. Oh if it were possible to give him the gift of sight again, I would so want to do it. But I digress.

Maybe I am attached to him because we have been through a lot together. Or maybe I'm attached to him because I know his time with me is limited and that I need to cherish the moments we have--cold nose on my leg and all. Maybe Switzer is the stand-in for my absent son whom I rarely see. After all, he was my grand dog before he became MY dog. Maybe I'm attached to him because he trusts me--especially when I take him outside, help him down steps, or keep him from stepping off the curb. He is not totally dependent, but we strike a good balance of care and concern for each other. I wonder about poignant things now like how I could face it if I had to humanely put him down, this fellow that is my best companion. I'm not sure I am strong enough to do that. And I am not sure I am strong enough to live without his constant watch over me. But I digress, again.

This fellow, Switzer the Spitzer, is taking me to the Poor House one prescription after another, one vet bill after another. His meds far exceed mine in number and in price. For example, Switzer's glaucoma drops from my pharmacy are, by themselves, over $100 a miniscule bottle. But even though he is blind, if I didn't put the drops in his eyes, he would be in pain. I couldn't bear that. Not for this special guy. If he were your companion, would you feel the same way? You see, I believe if the tables were turned, he'd do all of that for me, and more. It's part of the relationship. I know I can't really prolong his life, but I can make him comfortable and let him know he is loved, even if it means I give up something else I'd like to have in order to do that.

So I return to the question: Why am I so attached to this aging creature? Or have I answered that already?

For more information on aging dogs click HERE.