Going to try with a little help from dog

I get by with a little help from my dog.

Calling it “help” however, might be a bit of a reach.

My wife calls it “controlling.”

Jem’s always been an affectionate, loving dog. When our pup Ruth died of cancer last fall, Jem seemed to sense my grief. Or at least that’s what I thought when he insisted on climbing onto my lap at every opportunity.

A lapdog since we got him nearly 14 years ago, it’s one of the few things he can still do. He walks with a painful gait, can’t jump into the truck, and is stone deaf. I take blame for the hearing loss. Had I been a better shot and not have taken so many over him, Jem might still be able to hear.

On the bright side he keeps himself clean, never lets me miss his feeding time, and continues to swim.

Our dog Ace is five years younger and the polar opposite of Jem. He’s never sat on a lap, doesn’t like to swim and is rarely clean, maintaining a putrid funk that is more than off-putting.

He’s a nice dog, but shy, a fortunate quality considering his stench.

Jem doesn’t have a shy bone in his body. He’s never been aggressive, but like the honey badger he closely resembles, he simply doesn’t care about his own welfare. He’s been snake-bit, cut by barbed wire, and fallen through the ice and been unable to get out.

Until a couple of years ago, he had a motor that wouldn’t quit. Not a fast dog, he nonetheless managed to keep a pace that was difficult to match.

Now he’s apparently decided we’re going to sit together until the end of his days, which I fear is nowhere near.

Parked on my lap, sound asleep, he’s perfectly fine sheltering in place. And it matters little these days that I’m covered in dog hair and smell like a spaniel. From a safe distance of at least six feet it’s barely noticeable.

Unfortunately Jem’s gotten gassy as he’s grown older. Barb and I were watching TV last night when she noticed the tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Don’t worry, honey,” she told me. “We’ll get through this.”

“Get through what? I asked. “My legs are asleep and Jem just farted.”

“He’s consoling you,” she said with a laugh.

I get by with a little help from my dogs.

Parker Heinlein is at [email protected].