Reese x 7

I have noticed, lately, that Reese is getting a little grey and white color around her snout. She's getting older and, much like me, age is making it's appearance known, one hair at a time. We got Reese about this time in 2019. The shelter thought she was "about 6 months old" at the time. Of course they also thought she was mostly Dachshund and wouldn't get very big. Now, 6 years later, she's a solid 75 pounds of fur mortar - not fast enough to be a fur missle, like a German Shepherd, but when she lands on you, it's got a pretty good impact, ergo, a mortar. 

Photos by Megan

When she gets the zoomies, and her stocky legs whip through the grass, it gives me the giggles. She loves a good stick and, regardless whether it's the size of a #2 pencil or a 3 foot long branch that fell out of the tree she'll pick it up in her jaws and carry it around the yard. When the stick is as long as her, she cocks her head to the side so she won't trip over it and, with one eye forward and one eye checking her flank, she drags it to wherever she wants to sit and gnaw on it.

They say dogs age seven times faster than people. Thus, one year in human years is seven to a dog. I read that's not exactly true - it's not a perfect, linear 7-to-1 ratio. It's more like the first year or two is a little faster than that, perhaps 8 or 9 or even 10 to 1. So the dog ages, if you will, faster when they are younger than when older. Regardless, doing the math, Reese is in her 6th dog year, well into being a middle-aged dog. 

Once she gets moving, she moves pretty well. I think she's developing a little arthritis. After she lays down for a while, she limps a little bit at first. I've also noticed she is starting to lay with her rear hips rolled to the side - another clue. But when she gets moving and the kinks work themselves out, then she's ready to defend home, hearth, and her domain against marauding squirrels, hovering vultures, and even the neighbor's cattle. 

Assuming the 7-to-1 ratio is true, astrophysicist Neil Degrasse Tyson points out that it's not just in years, but everything. One human day is seven dog days; one human hour is seven dog hours. Dogs maximize their time because their time is seven times faster than ours. 

If that's true, I wonder then if she feels seven times what we feel in happiness, joy and even sadness? Does she get seven times the satisfaction of chasing after that dang squirrel, or crunching the perfect stick, of a bowl of kibble topped with the cheese tax, of a pat in the back and a belly rub? Is a "woof" seven times as satisfactory as a my "yep," her sigh seven times more gratifying as she settles in for a nap, and her stretch-and-yawn seven times as enjoyable, post nap? I hope so - seven times over. 

Jesus spoke of forgiving seventy times seven. The point was not to keep score, to maintain a crib sheet of notes, counting, ready to pounce - "Ah ha! I only have to forgive you twice more, you scoundrel!" Rather, quite the opposite. You don't keep score at all, refusing to count to that blessed - or blasted? - 490 times, instead, always begginning again at one. That's the measure of grace. It never ends. Grace is always "plus-one." We live in grace, are filled with grace, and by God's grace we distribute God's grace seven-fold plus. 

Reese is resting, now. I think I'll take a little seven-minute nap myself. Should I count that in my minutes or hers...