Slowly emerging from jet lag induced stupor, I get a call from Mrs. T. to book a photo session for her aging Boston Terrier, Tansy. She underlines the urgency of the matter describing her dog’s life expectancy “in terms of weeks rather than months.” I imagine a pitiful feeble animal wrapped in a little blanket and hurriedly schedule the shoot for the next morning.
Indeed I am surprised to see a robust distinguished terrier show up on my doorstep. Tansy seems more in need of a valium than geriatric care. Does this creature even remotely look like an ailing pooch to you?
I suffer from the same sense of dread when I think of my own two 14 year old dogs. I feel their expiry date is coming any day now, yet, last month, they sacrificed a huge opossum on my nice costly Italian leather couch (re-baptized “the Altar of Death” a long time ago.) I figured that if they made me haul off bodies in the middle of the night, the least they could do is wear ridiculous Santa hats and scarves for my Christmas cards. They are Jack Russell Terriers. Deep down I know they will outlive me… out of spite.