You know when you catch a toe and you have a little stumble and try to right yourself. Suddenly, you’re taking giant steps, hunched forward, ready to brace with your arms, trying to catch yourself before falling. So now you’re at a dead run, refusing to fall. It would’ve been easier to just fall. Finally, you get your balance and pull whatever dignity is left up from your ankles. But with the next step, you catch the other toe and do it all again.
I feel I’m living in a strange alternate universe where this is somehow true of both my hearing loss adventure and teaching Jolene to fetch.
I lost a hearing aid five days ago. Just when I was feeling good about the miracle technology that would be mine once I found my way out of the swamp of my new Apple phone. But without my hearing aids, the lights went out. I was back to dodging cars in parking lots and asking people to yell at me. Most people are too polite to yell. I point at my ears and shake my head. I say “what” too many times. Maybe a forehead tattoo? It isn’t fair. I gave up coffee and red wine like they told me.
Then the AKC wrote to warn me that Jolene is an adolescent now. They left out Viking. Adolescent Viking. Well, too late. She can’t tolerate a collar or any of her five harnesses. Or a leash. Jolene won’t come into the house. She’s already moved everything in the bathroom outside, including some hair product that she used very poorly. I call her in my sweet voice, ” Cookie!” Nothing. She’s gone feral. Sometimes, she glares into my eyes and gives me a growly bark, like a whisper but in ALL CAPS. It could mean anything.
No sour reaction from me. Jolene will grow out of this stage. But I remember too many pups that didn’t survive it. When I was 19 and working intake at an animal shelter, the majority of dogs I euthanized were this dangerous age, when they stopped being cute and became destructive. Good on AKC for the positive solutions they suggested.
Jolene’s teen angst has changed my mind about one thing. Some version of recall is overdue. We can’t both be deaf. My new master plan involved transitioning from tug to fetch to having something remotely like recall. It’s a Hail Mary pass, but hopefully Jolene would come running toward me half the time.
Last weekend, my boarder and I tag-teamed, playing tug with Jolene for five hours. Or was it 20 minutes? Step one was a tug that had a ball tied to it. Like soap-on-a-rope and easier to throw.
These are Jolene’s rules for tug/fetch: She goes to get it, then she might take it to Mister. He might play, or snap at her for disturbing him, or ignore her. Or she might go walkabout for as long as she wants. Or she might bring it back, but will need some time to kill it before letting you have it. This sounds fair because it’s Jolene’s way or the highway.
When she stops tugging and drops it, we wing it away again! One throw goes high, and Jolene does a double-flip, full gainer with a twist mid-air. We forgot to throw some short, high ones. We lob a few more. She never took an eye off, but waited for the first bounce every time.
Mister had been lying in the shade under the bush because he doesn’t like sports of any kind. Not the sort to watch football, more of a PBS sort of guy. Feels he would have been a better choice than the yellow lab they cast in Downton Abbey. But he walked over from time to time, and we scratched him under his chin. Then he went back to the shade because no. sports.
But now we’re tossing them high in the air, and Mister wanders over and watches Jolene for a few moments. Only passive interest, but we throw him a soft toss that hangs in the air. It comes down slowly, and Mister looks up at it. It’s the slow-motion scene in the baseball movie. But Mister isn’t that guy. He blinks his eyes shut, a dozen more blinks and squints and blinks. He twitches and then flinches and crumples to the side as the ball lands a couple feet away.
We can’t help it. My boarder and I double over, howling, and gasping for air. Tears and snot everywhere, and whenever one of us tries to speak, we are back to gasping for air. We can’t sit up. Now it feels so good to laugh that we don’t even try to stop. Finally, one of us mutters between gasps that Mister would be picked last for every team, and we start all over again because we were picked last, too. He returns to his place in the shade, his opinions about sports confirmed. He likes laughter, the closest humans come to barking. Mister is secure, knowing he is still our voice of reason, still our stodgy hall monitor.
Partway through the week, I shelled out more money from my imaginary trust fund for another Apple product. AirPods, so I could at least use my phone until my replacement hearing aid arrives. Not the week I wanted to donate to their cause.
Meanwhile, Jolene still ignores the ordinary balls, but the soap-on-a-rope ball is a win. She gallops back at breakneck speed, catches a toe, and somersaults to a landing, belly up between my shoes, looking like she meant to do it. SAFE! I cheer her home. She smacks her teeth on the rope, get’s a belly rub, and finally we’re back on the same team. It’s her team because it doesn’t work to be on an opposing team.
Maybe you assume a dog is to blame for my lost hearing aid? That’s silly. I would have noticed if a dog had stolen my hearing aid out of my ear. I was busy working, recording for the Gray Mare Podcast, taking headphones on and off. The same with my glasses. It’s a lot for some skin and gristle to support. I drink tea while recording to keep my throat lubricated, so I’ve been in a few rooms.
This brand new Apple phone, which I still consider intentionally backing over with my truck, has a tracker in the hearing aid app. After a couple of hours fiddling with the controls, it showed my hearing aids in the back half of the house. Finally, the right hearing aid wasn’t with the left, there on my desk. Not news. I watched the light bar telling me when I was warmer or cooler as the right hearing aid tracker went dead.
Nothing stays where it lands. You know this living with dogs. It’s the five-second rule. Blaming Jolene would be easy, but a single hearing aid is about the size of a treat. Mister is the counter surfer, known for his exploits by his friends at the all-night emergency vet clinic. He suggests we blame Peach, the cat. Jolene volunteers to lead the investigation. And the game’s afoot.
Besides, there’s no use getting mad now. I had a stumble or two this week. Seems like most of the world did. I also laughed and barked like a French bulldog. Maybe my phone will work like those puzzles people do to ward off senility. Assuming my sanity can outlast my confusion. An hour later, Jolene strolled into my studio and dropped a mangled half of a hearing aid, like the answer to an ancient question. I cheered anyway. A little while later, she brought the other half.
Things will work out. And maybe it’s people who don’t understand how fetch works.
[Part 23. Read all the episodes of Jolene’s Story here.]
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Ah yes, the adolescent stage. Good times! My thirteen year old Rattie destroyed my highly coveted Bluetooth device about a month ago. The device that is so coveted (because, of course they don’t make that model anymore) that over the years (yes, the device was that old) I’ve been known to go into a full blown panic attack when I’ve discovered it’s been “misplaced.” Sigh. Dogs. Gotta love ’em!
Yup. Nothing else works. Thanks, from one dog to another.
Loved, loved, loved this edition…especially the parts about those hearing aides!
Thanks, Katharine.
Glad you found the hearing aid although mangled. The technology can be daunting. I still dont used everything my phone does. I am working to learn both Power BI (and data mine) and Copilot (AI) for work. We are also using ChatGpt. Go Anna and Jolene. Learning keeps us both motivated (sometimes to throw the device across the room) and innovating. Happy Friday
Well put, Mary. Technology as a work out!
Maybe this goes without saying (but I am) at least she didnt eat it – all.
There’s that… thanks, Maggie
This is pure gold! Having unknowingly lost one hearing aid while taking off a headset after a riding lesson I know the desperation that settles into one’s gut. Miraculously it was setting on the arena dirt right where I took off the gear. I got lucky but then Jolene wasn’t around. Hah!
I have purchased (well, still paying off) a cheaper in the ear type of hearing aid to use during lessons.
But such a help in a riding lesson!!! Thanks, Rose. My Viking girl would be glad she made you a little nervous…
Definitely sounds like Jolene is related to my Norwegian Elkhound who is going to be 13 in February. They do slow down. Just lost an even older dog that I know the Elkhound misses. They tell me get a puppy to keep her company. Okay, but not in late fall in Montana. At my age under the best of circumstances a puppy will have more energy than me. Standing in a snow drift in below freezing temperatures to housebreak a puppy is not appealing no matter how cute they are. I was lucky last time I adopted an adult shelter dog. She was more work reforming than a puppy, but very worth it in the end. Either way, a summer project here.
Paula, I was happy with my spring choice… for the same reason. And yes, Jolene and your Elkhound are more related than not. Best wishes for the winter ahead.
The joys of teenagers, of any species! Darned expensive and inconvenient chew toy she chose. I thought Wilson’s choice of my brand-new yellow hat was bad. I knew that Mister and I were soulmates, sports-hating, PBS-watching soulmates. I wish I could have seen his reaction to the indignity of being asked to fetch. Thank you for sharing that laugh.
Mister did kind of overact like William Shatner. It was great! And well done, Wilson. Complacency must be addressed!
I’m reminded of our second Golden Retriever, Phoebe. She was as crazy as she was beautiful. I thought she would be another iteration of our first Golden, namely Goldie. On recall she would choose any human other than myself 😌 etc. etc.
Oh, that is so flattering… and nothing to do but watch and breathe! Thanks Kathleen.
Anna,
We don’t have dogs, but we both did at one time, so I can relish all the canine tales; it’s cats and birds now, and they are just as funny.
A note on the falls. Carruthers! Last May, two fractured wrists (they never fully recovered of course; I am 72. I rock on as best I can.
Then, David crashed down, tripping over a stall guard. Urgent Care for that one as he hit his head. He survived, some back jolting to his already damaged back. He’s better, now. And then…three days ago, I was in the paddock of the new barn (stunning, private barn with a small herd) and puttering about with our horses. It’s a hilly pasture, and I was on an upward incline. Stepped backwards to put a little more distance between the Thoroughbred and myself, and tripped over the salt block/dish. No time
to catch myself and crashed down backwards. A few days before that, my husband opened the front door suddenly, and pushed
me (accidently, hopefully) toward the stairs, where I hit my chest on the stair rail, so that was a punch that affected the
cartilege. Then, the trip over the salt, slammed me on the other side (although, thankfully, I didn’t hit my head). It’s a constant
occupational hazard now…and, as you will agree, trying (if failing) to be more careful.
The amusing part. My horses stood there looking at me with almost comical expression, while I lay there, wondering if I was hut…again. At least I kept my arms flat, and did not use the wrists. Some wires were attached there.
It has become a source of comedy for friends (younger ones, at least). They try to sympathise, but don’t know whether to be serious or laugh.
As Dame Diana Rigg, the late and wonderful British actress, once noted (and I paraphrase):
‘You become so pathetic, you just can’t take yourself seriously — I can’t cross the road without help’.
My husband held his breath…again…and I sprung up. No further damage (at least I don’t think so).
I believe we are entering Shakespeare’s Sixth Age…or at least we are on the threshold.
I am seriously considering purchasing an Equestrian Eventing Vest (or two). Neither of us rides, of course,
but we need the vests for walking around, doing simple chores. I have engaged a young, professional
groom, a dear young friend, who helps us three days a week. We walk out on trails with the horses…
all of us (the full herd) on foot or hoof. It’s fun and relaxing, and we have lovely places to go. There is
always one extra human in case of need.
One has to be very flexible at this delicate age, yet still soldier on. I should have a dog like Mister to be a calm
companion.
Warm wishes to all, Happy Hallowe’en
Nuala
If I fall out of the barn, I will, hopefully land right in the arena, which is just two steps outside.
Yup, I’m glad to say vests are as common as helmets these days. Not that helmets are common enough. Thanks, Nuala. And just so you know, Mister will pull anyone to the ground if there is some fresh horse manure. I don’t think anyone can call a corgi off that treat.
You both have had quite a “run” on falls! I think the Vest is a good idea – precautions and safety.
The worry in the back of my mind is stepping wrong coming down the porch stairs – only 4 but… I make sure to use the railings.
Oh lord, back in the days where that thought never crossed my mind.
No horses anymore, dog, cat and bird.
I just hate that even though I would love love love to be around horses now – cant take the chance.
We do have deer – especially this time of year – sometimes their mindset is a lot like horses.
Be careful, Nuala
Great stuff
Thanks, K
(Humbly) bragging that Quinn grabbed a shoe once, not long after he arrived, and a stern look was all the correction needed. No destruction since. He has instead blessed me with full-body shivering plus puddles of drool when it even thinks about thunderstorming. Or blowing. Or the next-door neighbor shuts their truck door too hard. Utterly fearful. Vet meds don’t work, but well-timed canine thc peanut butter does.
Not to worry – the gods of karma come-around instead supplied me with a kitten, who has managed to mangle multiple pairs of orthopedic flip flops (+/- $360) which he severs the toe posts on, successfully rendering them useless – and will open drawers to get access to. They must now be stored outdoors.
Because it’s always something… Mister will tell you, it’s the cats you have to watch. (and good boy, Quinn.)
My granddaughter bought one of those vests (thunder?) for their dog & she said it actually works & Buster just take a nap. This was because of fireworks, I believe. But I bet they work for thunder too.
We have a lot in common. I’ve told you that before.
We are the same age.
We are both horse addicted. I have 3 of my own and my son has one here. I care for them. I trail ride and camp with friends. I belong to two trail riding clubs. I got cancer last year and couldn’t ride much for a year and a half, so I understand health problems that blindside you.
We both have young puppies. My Agnes is 10 months old and I’m having a blast with her. She’s a Cockapoo. 14 pounds. No shedding, friendly, pretty, always cheerful. I carry her in a bag on my horse when we ride. When we get close to home I let her out and she runs with us in the woods. A horse stepped on her a few weeks ago and I think it broke her hind leg. She wouldn’t put any weight on it at all. So I fashioned a split for her and she wore that for a week or so. It’s much better now and she bears weight on it some. Three quarters of the time. It doesn’t slow her down much. I think she had a non displaced green stick fracture. If I had taken her to a vet, they would have X-rayed it, and done the same thing, and I’d have paid 1000 dollars to learn what I already knew.
We both wear hearing aides. I also lost one, but my loss occurred when I fell off a horse. No injuries ( I love my hit air vest), but I didn’t discover it until I went to take them out at bedtime that night. I also have a find my app on my phone, but it said my hearing aid was in Harrisburg, which is 2 hours away from here. I had been at horse expo, which is in February/March. It was summer when I lost it. So I went into the audiology office the next day, and they couldn’t get the app to work either. We called the company, and it turns out you have to open the app daily in order for it to work. News to everyone. Oh well, it was under warranty, so it only cost 500 dollars to replace it, instead of 2550, which is what it originally cost. (Notice my sarcasm)
Anyway, I enjoy reading your posts. Hang in there. When I get down about it, I remind myself of a couple of things. One, if we had been born in 1900, like my grandmother was, our life expectancy was 40-50. So we should be dead by now. And 2, almost everyone our age has something. We just have to figure out how to deal with ours. I figure I don’t have that many years left, and I’m not going to spend what time I have left being miserable.
I was happy with my replacement cost too, not that I wanted to pay it. And my outcome was great, could have been so much worse. A wake up call… but better than the alternatives. Life is a one way street, and we can make a choice to be miserable or NOT. We vote NOT. Thanks, Beth
Oh dear. I was hoping when you said Jolene had volunteered to lead the hunt that somehow there would be a triumphant happy ending where her nose work saved the day. I guess technically she did find it so…
Our younger Anatolian has negative recall right now, the word Come sends her running the opposite direction. I’ve changed tactics to calling out Sit and then bringing the cookie to her. It feels like a win right now 😁
Negative recall. That sounds about right. And aren’t we the clever ones. Getting a recall by taking an alternate route. Thanks, Shaste
haha that made me laugh out loud….hope the technology to help gets easier. and less vulnerable somehow. at least she didnt eat it. out latest foster pup ate a sharpie the other day, well most of it.
she (and us) seem to have got away with it so far.
proverbial fingers remaining crossed.
The amount of time spent wondering if they ate something… oh, to have that not be a thing. Thanks, Chris.
Sighhh earpods and teenage angst… Teen Sass systematically severed every earbud cable I kept optimistically re-acquiring… rather swimmingly, for my undivided attention.
It’s a thing alright. Thanks, Prita