The geriatric greyhound
Thoughts on getting older.
Flynn has been with us for eight years. A rescue greyhound from Dogs Trust, he wasn't the dog we wanted.
We had our hearts set on a much smaller whippet, but when we arrived at Dogs Trust Salisbury there were no whippets. We walked past the perspex windows, looking in at the dogs needing rehoming; the first space housed a particularly stocky dog surrounded by the remnants of what one could only assume was a duvet in a previous life. The next space we were greeted by a duo of small dogs who had clearly 'found their voices'. In the third space led Flynn, a 5 year old black greyhound, gangly legged and fast asleep with a face that read as do not disturb. I remember hard relating to this dogs mood.
We decided to take him for a walk round the grounds. He didn't pull the lead, he just plodded along at whatever pace we set. We umm-ed and ahh-ed, we didn't anticipate such a large dog, we also weren't sure about his age, at five years old it made him likely to pass away during our children's GCSE exam year. It seemed ludicrous trying to calculate the timing of the end of life of dog that was so young and yet it was a very real, very practical consideration.
It was too late, we had already fallen in love, he was part of our family.
An ex-racing greyhound, he's always had to walk on lead. his chase instinct to kill any small that runs fast was inbred and trained in. During his first few years he maimed a few hedgehogs and killed a cat that wandered into our garden. But generally he was a placid dog, spending all day on 'his sofa', enjoying a short walk and the occasional zoomie round the garden, running in circles at speed for 60 seconds, before lying out in the sunshine and falling sound asleep again. He's never barked. Ever.
The past few years though he's slowed down. He's grown a lot more grey hair (relatable) and he's had nearly all his teeth removed due to dental issues. This means his tongue often rolls out of his mouth.
He's 14 this year. He can no longer manage walks round the block, just halfway up the lane and back. He often topples over when he poops and his back legs intermittently give way. It takes him longer to get up from his bed (again, relatable). He's developed bed sores from lying down so much of the time, in turn his beds have become much deeper and higher, half-dog bed-half-sofa. Relegated at night to the conservatory, stair-gated, as he can no longer manage more than a few hours without needing to toilet. Mornings now start cleaning up his messes.
He seems happy enough but it's really hard to tell with this greyhound. He's too stoic to let you know if he's in pain, and he's so slow and shaky. His coat is starting to look scraggy, he's losing weight, much more bag of bones that usual. Yet he's healthy enough – no medication needed, he's just pottering on.
But we're all sensing that may not last much longer, and it's very sad.
'The first 75 years of January are always the hardest' was the last of many memes sent between our small friendship group. But just why does January always seem to feel like it lasts so long – and why does it feel like it's getting longer?
Circadian rhythms? Post-stimulation comedown? Your body's natural response to the season and shorter hours or day light? Getting back into a routine post-Christmas break?
All those things, but amplified enormously by social media. In my case, Instagram.
It's true, the comedown from December's Christmas stimulation can leave you a little flat after. But let's rewind a little. Let's think back to later October and early November. The Christmas noise began way earlier, whether you were paying close attention and actively getting involved or just scrolling past it, eye rolling, it was all going into your subconscious.
Targeted ads for gifts, content creators sharing festive hacks and recipes, disgruntled shoppers posting about how festive gift wrap and tubs of Celebrations were on sale way too cheap and too early (and how small those tubs have gotten). And let's face it, we all silently judged someone who put their Christmas tree up in November and felt compelled to share it with the world.
Then December actually begins. And it's not too bad – until you get to the last week, the post-Boxing Day wilderness, when you're left disoriented, what day of the week is it?
January has some of the shortest days of the year, more darkness can lead to a lower mood and, in turn, your body naturally tries to conserve energy, to take things down a notch. And yet at the start of January, there's a pressure to set yourself goals, resolutions. Even if you choose not to do this, when are on social media, the chances are you end up absorbing other people's ambitions and, in turn, often find yourself feeling like you need to publicly state that you don't feel like it's necessary - all that takes mind space and energy.
By mid January, you get back in your groove, it feels good to get the Christmas excess behind you and get back to normality. Then come the January-is-too-long memes. You 'like' one in passing, then the algorithm picks up on it, and before long, you are seeing more, you share one with a friend, and before you know it, you are being bombarded with dozens of images a day, scrolling into your subconscious, reinforcing the idea that January is dragging on and on. And then suddenly it really does feel like it's dragging. You take that feeling, you share it with friends, family, and mention it in-passing to coworkers, spreading the message. And so it goes on.
Until February, and then one week in your telling everyone how fast the month is going 🤦🏻♀️
Last week we were in Tenerife, escaping the UK's longest-ever-rain spell for the promise of sunshine. Al left early to cycle up Mount Teide on the second day, so I took a stroll down from Adege to Playa de las Américas.
Even at 8 am, the sun warmed my face as I ambled from the hotel. I noticed that the hustle and bustle of tourism from the previous afternoon had gone, and instead I was greeted by locals on their morning jogs, elderly, tanned bodies meditating on the sand along the route. As I walked to the water's edge to start taking photos, I became aware that a couple of the swimmers coming out of the water were naked, so I quickly let the camera hang loose and moseyed along.
The morning light was beautiful, and I cannot wait to share photos of it once my film negatives return and I scan them in. A wave of contentment washed over me in time with the tide, and as I got closer, I could see dozens of surfers bobbing out at sea, along with some big waves. I picked up the pace, excited to get closer and watch the action.
These images were taken on a roll of Hanalogital Agate 400, a souped film from the talented Hanna, and I'm thrilled how they turned out.
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