Blue is slowly nodding off. His head rests on his front paws. His eyes are barely open. They twitch, open a bit more, and then close – shutting a little bit tighter with each cycle. He is trying to stay awake.
If I get up from my chair, he will wake up and watch me. Then he will drag himself up and follow me, even if it means going only a few feet before realizing that I am headed back his way. I tell him he doesn’t need to worry. I tell him he doesn’t have to do anything. I tell him to stay where he is, to rest. He’s almost completely deaf. I tried using signs, but they seem to confuse him.
I wonder what Blue thinks he is doing when he follows me into the kitchen or outside into the backyard. Guarding me? I don’t think so. He’s past all that and he knows it. Why does he stick so close to me?
Sometimes he does this because he wants me to let him outside – so he can make his mark in the world or because he’s caught the whiff of a tasty treat. Blue has developed a taste for the chicken’s feed lately – it doesn’t matter what form the food takes, just so long as it was meant for Layla, our sole surviving hen. He’ll actually climb inside the enclosed chicken run to get to it, sometimes getting his claws stuck in the tightly woven galvanized hardware cloth that covers the gate ramp. As I pry him loose – one paw at a time, sometimes the same paw twice – I point out that he is getting his just deserts and remind him that I might not always be there to get him out of trouble. He knows better.
Layla doesn’t fight Blue over her food. She has other options, one of her favorites being the wildflower seeds she discovers in the thinning grass at the edge of the giant oak tree shade. The fine seeds should be a treat for her, falling like manna from two overflowing birdfeeders. She will typically peck and scratch her way back and forth between the feeders. They are about twenty feet apart, each hung from a spring-loaded limb on a gnarly old redbud. The squirrels used to spill quite a bit of birdseed for her. We made it slightly more difficult for the squirrels to get to the feeder; now we have to spill the seed ourselves so Layla has something to glean. But as much as she enjoys birdseed, Layla actually prefers dry dog food these days – Blue’s food.
When she is out of snacks, Layla will stand at the back door, beak right up to the glass, staring impatiently at us until we throw her something or open the door to let Blue out. Then, while Blue is going out the door to get at Layla’s food, Layla is coming in to get at his dog food. If we shut the door behind him, Blue immediately turns around and puts his nose up to the glass. He really doesn’t like Layla to eat his food in the house. Although Layla will follow us around when we have birdseed or blueberries in hand – or when there is a big hawk or owl in striking distance – she still holds her head high, clearly feeling entitled to our protection and indulgence. Layla has started laying again and she’s proud of her work.
But I digress.
He’s lying on his side now, breathing slowly, apparently deeply asleep. He is so skinny. I could count every rib. His pelvis juts out, no fat on his hindquarters at all and hardly any muscle, barely enough sinew there to make his hips move. We can’t go for long walks anymore. Besides, it’s raining hard and the chicken feed is secured, as is Layla, in her little tin-roofed coop. He won’t want to go out. I step over him on the way to the refrigerator to refill my water glass. When I turn around, he is standing in the doorway, tail wagging.
OK, buddy. Come on. Let’s go.
April 22, 2017
