growing old with gracie
Yesterday my lower back hurt pretty severely. Walking was an effort. But I find it better to stay somewhat active than sit with my feet up all day. Also paining me were my left knee and my right foot. These aches, too, made it hard. And this weight! I eat a cookie. I gain a pound. It's my 66-year-old reality. Arthritis in my hands - well, we don't want to even talk about that. So much for ‘golden-year’ propaganda.
I watch Gracie pull herself up from the floor, her crooked back legs trembling, and it's all she can do to get them moving. She tries to stretch them out but almost falls. I pull myself up from my recliner and hobble to the door to let her out, and she looks at me with those confused eyes that say, "What is out? Where is out? Why would I want to go out?" Then she gets lost under a table.
I do a few things to get the blood flowing before allowing myself back to the reclining position. Ah, my chair. Gracie circles around again and again and again, looking for that sweet spot on the carpet to park her poor, disabled butt, and then decides she'd instead rather be picked up and put on the couch. I can almost read her body language, so off the recliner, holding onto my back and to the aid of my poor old girl. "There you go," I say, placing her comfortably onto the couch and making sure her behind is to the back, so she doesn't fall off (yes, it happens) butt first. Back to the reclining position, I go in my chair and guess who jumps down onto the floor.
Gracie was groomed yesterday. Although at seventeen she has minimal hearing and eyesight left, she managed to admire herself in the mirror upon returning home.