DEKKER LOOKS AHEAD
There comes a time, I think, when every working dog deserves the same thing every human longs for as they age…permission to lay down the harness without laying down their worth.
For nearly nine years, Dekker has been “on duty.” Even when it doesn’t look like work to other people, he is always paying attention.
Service dogs do not simply walk beside us. They monitor, anticipate, adjust, steady, retrieve, guide, interrupt, remain alert, and stay quietly focused in crowded rooms, concerts, churches, restaurants, airports, and waiting rooms. They listen for spoken commands…and unspoken ones too.
“Stay on my right. Pick that up. Brace. Wait. Watch”
And perhaps the hardest command of all for a dog who loves life…”Be still.”
Dekker has done all of this with loyalty and enthusiasm that still amazes me. But age comes to Labradors just as surely as it comes to people.
His hearing and vision are changing a bit. Long periods of intense concentration tire him more quickly now. Getting up from hard floors takes a little longer. Two-hour concerts where he must remain perfectly quiet and motionless are no longer restful for him. They are work.
Hard work.
And while he would still try with his whole heart because that is who he is, I have realized that love sometimes means releasing someone from what they can still do…because they no longer should have to.
Retirement for a service dog is a strange thing. Nothing dramatic happens. There is no gold watch or pension plan, although the church where he has been a faithful participant for many years has officially recognized him and said their goodbyes.
One day, the red jacket of a professional service dog simply comes off more. The dog begins sleeping a little later in the morning. He notices squirrels again. He stretches out in the sun without listening to every movement of your body.
He gets to just be a dog.
That does not mean Dekker is disappearing. Oh no. He still intends to supervise life from the floor.
He will continue writing once a month and answering your questions because, frankly, he enjoys the attention… and the kibble payments involved.
But from now on, his work will mostly be the quieter kind: companionship, presence, wisdom, and occasionally judging my snack choices.
Which, honestly, may have been his greatest gift all along.
And now…Dekker would like a word.
Question from Audrey:
“Dekker, are you sad about retiring?”
Woof Woof, Audrey,
I do not think dogs understand retirement exactly the way humans do.
I still wake up every morning very happy to see my person. I still follow her around the house to make sure she does not accidentally wander into the kitchen without me. I still inspect dropped crumbs with professional excellence.
But I am more tired now.
Sometimes my hips say, “Perhaps let someone else pick up the spoon today.” Sometimes concerts feel very long. Sometimes I would rather sniff the breeze than concentrate hard on staying perfectly still.
Humans often think usefulness is the same thing as love. Dogs know better.
I do not love my person less because I rest more.
And she does not love me less because I cannot work the same way.
That seems important.
Besides…retired dogs apparently receive more naps and snacks. I am still studying this arrangement, but so far it seems promising.
Question from Harold:
“How do we know when it is time to let go of a role we have loved?”
Woof Woof, Harold,
That is a very human question.
Dogs do not spend much time pretending we are puppies when we are old. We slow down when we slow down. We nap when we are tired. We do not feel ashamed about gray fur or stiff legs.
Humans make this much harder.
Sometimes you keep carrying a stick long after your mouth is tired because you are afraid no one will throw another one for you.
But perhaps life changes games as we age.
Maybe your value is not only in what you produce, carry, or fix. Maybe your presence matters too.
Old dogs are very good at presence. We know how to stay close without making noise.
Could there be wisdom in that?
Question from Marie:
“Dekker, what do you hope retirement will be like?”
Woof Woof, Marie,
More sunspots.
More sniffing.
More watching birds without being interrupted by responsibility.
I hope for slow mornings, soft blankets, and people who understand that old dogs sometimes need extra time to get up.
Mostly, I hope to stay near the people I love.
That has always mattered most to me anyway.
And perhaps that is the secret older dogs and older humans slowly learn together: being deeply loved is more important than being endlessly useful.
Until next time,
may you know when to carry the harness…
and when to gently set it down.
May you never mistake rest for failure.
May your slowing become a different kind of wisdom.
May there always be someone nearby who loves you exactly as you are now.
And may there always be a warm place in the sun waiting for you.
Woof woof.
Woof!!
Can I send you more “Wisdom from the Floor?”
