Ace Doesn't Know When to Quit

I have a picture on my phone of Ace and a sharptail grouse I shot early this season. It was, I feared, the old dog’s last hunt.

A couple of months shy of his 13th birthday, Ace is about done.

Or so I thought.

But I just took another photo of him with a bird last week, and I suspect it won’t be the last either.

Like Joe Biden, Ace doesn’t know when to quit.

He can’t hear. He stumbles. It’s often hard to tell if he’s dead or simply asleep.

Barb and I have even been talking about getting a puppy when he’s gone.

Ace, however, isn’t going anywhere except along. He still hates to be left behind, howling mournfully when I don’t take him.

It seems I’ve been dealing with geriatric canines for far too long. Spot was nearly 15 when she died. Jem was 13. Now it’s Ace’s turn.

He doesn’t actually hunt much anymore. The birds in the photos were all flushed and retrieved by three-year-old Dot. But for the last 12 years, he’s been with me every hunting season, never venturing very far from my side.

English springer spaniels have a life expectancy of around 12 years. American males have a life expectancy of around 72 years.

Ace and I are both pushing the limit.

In his case, I’ll eventually make the call to the vet and have him put down. As for me, I see my future in the old dog’s existence.

I suspect my family will still tolerate me when I whine and bark, need help getting into the truck, and have to eat soft foods. They’ll wipe the slobber off my mouth and trim my nails, take me for rides in the country, and when I fall asleep after dinner they’ll watch closely for the rise and fall of my chest to see if I’m still alive.

Someone will take pictures near the end to capture my final hunt, ride in the truck, holiday season, whatever.

Like my final hunt pictures of Ace, though, I hope there are a lot of retakes. So, I suspect, does he.

Parker Heinlein is at [email protected]