Felix the Sheepdog — also known as Dumpledore, Noodlebutt, Gassy McPootsalot, or Felix P. Hoenikker, Attorney at Paw — recently celebrated his 12th birthday, for which he received and demolished a double cheeseburger (hold all the vegetable fixins’, please). It was the least we could do to acknowledge his continued ability to live, and also to stay on his good side.
For a 12-year-old, large breed dog, Felix remains both adorable and spry. Here is Felix, roughly age 4; here is Felix, roughly age 12. The other day, he ran into the office, leapt onto the coffee table as though it were a gymnastics vault, and used it to propel himself into a secondary jump onward to the sofa, before pivoting on a dime and sprinting back out of the room.
My concern is this: 12 is quite a ripe number of years for a dog of his size, yet the dog does not seem to be physically aging in any meaningful way. Which, on one hand, is lovely; Felix and I are quite close, despite the farting, and I’d like for him to stick around as long as possible. But on the other hand, makes me wonder if:
(1) Our other dog might have passed away younger than we would have expected and hoped because Felix was secretly draining his life force, or
(2) We’re going to be packing up the apartment one day, and find a portrait of a scarred, old, malicious sheepdog hanging in the attic.
Maybe it just means that we should all, dogs and humans alike, be eating Wellness Core dry dog food (Chicken) for every meal. Something in there is clearly getting the job done; after all, we don’t have an attic.
Happy birthday, Fartknocker.