I can smell rain in the air so there’s some on the way, but we’ve been enjoying these late autumn mornings, with frost on the ground and mist on the river.
It’s a good time of year. Our walks are more adventurous once the likelihood of wriggles recedes — we venture along the rougher banks and off the tracks and, while I assure the Boss I have learned my lesson, he doesn’t want to take any chances.
He still remembers the cost of the antivenene when that tiger nailed me as I was climbing out of the river a few years ago. He denies he’s only thinking about the money — after all, he says, it pales into insignificance compared to my monthly running costs.
I like to think that’s part of the price he pays for having a legend to keep him company but I have to admit the athlete in me is losing its edge, just a tad.
On our Sunday walk, we wandered quite a way down river and put up a fox by a north-facing sandbar — he was a handsome fellow in his full winter finery and we got a good look at him. There was a time I would have been right on his tail — enough to scare him — but I let New Boy try that while I poked around to see what he’d been up to.
The fact is, I need medications these days to keep my arthritis at bay — a product, the Boss suggests, of my youthful exuberance, flying high for the balls and all those Big Entries, leaping off the top bank into the river.
Rather unkindly, he read the list (and cost) out this week, after I had my shots: there’s the Beransa injection, a pain blocker; there’s the Synovan injection for the arthritis; there’s Metacam to relieve my swollen ankle; there’s the Trincin eye ointment for whatever I catch occasionally mixing it with other dogs at the kennels this time of year — and that’s not counting the chewable worm tablets and the Advocate to keep fleas and ticks at bay.
And he reminds me of the annual C5 shots too, covering canine parvovirus, canine distemper, canine hepatitis, bordetella bronchiseptica and parainfluenza – whatever they all are … but I don’t want any of them. And along with that goes the annual service inspection.
“Are you really worth it, General?” he is inclined to ask, as if he’s pondering a range of options. It’s important in these moments to brighten him up with a few vigorous tail wags and a nuzzle of his leg, or his wrist. It’s not hard to bring a smile to his face.
But he once said that, when he feels like trading me in or sending me to the knackery, he thinks about Leonard Cohen’s words at his famous ‘Live In London’ concert — a remarkable recording The Boss has listened to many times.
The elderly Cohen was trying to re-make his fortune after his minder had absconded with his money and the poet-cum-singer embarked on ambitious world tours, including two to Australia.
The Boss says the London concert is loved by Cohen fans, not only because the Golden Voice had never been deeper or richer, but because of Cohen’s commentary between songs.
Reflecting on his years of depression, which eventually and miraculously faded away, Cohen drily remarked:
“I've taken a lot of Prozac, Paxil, Wellbutrin, Effexor, Ritalin, Focalin.”
He paused, and went on.
“I’ve also studied deeply in the philosophies of the religions. But cheerfulness kept breaking through.”
It will if you give it a chance. Woof!