A valentine to Zoe the dog

My darling Zoe, who turns 15 this week, is very much the object of my love and attention, valentine-wise and otherwise. She is my best girl in a family where there is no shortage of contenders for floral bouquets and boxes of chocolates.

But this year, Cupid is arcing a tender arrow Zoe’s way. Up until age 14, she seemed to be the perpetual puppy, zooming up the stairs after her stuffed frog like a heat-seeking missile. A Coton de Tulear, she is a fluffy mound of white hair who, as mayor of our block, stands on the sill in the front window and monitors her territory. Pity the innocent lab or terrier that wanders anywhere near our property. Zoe will bark them out of the neighborhood.

This past year, though, she has settled into her dotage. She doesn’t hear quite as well, so she sometimes misses a poodle yapping along our property, or the sound of the mail carrier dropping letters into the box. She sleeps most of the day and, like many old folks, has started to walk around at night.

I wonder what sends her on her midnight patrols — some discomfort in the bones, a bad dream, an urgent need to go. We sometimes find the evidence in a hallway or a pad we put down in the kitchen.

During the day, she eats and sleeps and happily walks the neighborhood. She plays the same games with me over and over, yet each time brand new. “Where’s your toy?” I ask. She dives for her frog and brings it just close enough for me to reach out and miss. Then she comes a bit closer. Finally I get the frog and toss it down the hall, and off she goes. Only recently, when I asked, “Where’s your toy?” she looked at me with a confused kind of expectation, as if she knew I was asking a question but couldn’t quite make it out.

There are other signs. I walk into a room and find her standing, facing the corner, quite still. Does she suddenly forget where she is? When I walk over and touch her back, she startles, and then she’s there again, my Zoe. It’s not unlike the times I charge up the steps and into a room, only to forget why I went upstairs at all.

And yes, I am attuned to the many ways in which a beloved dog’s telescoped life is a metaphor for all we humans experience as we age.

None of the clichés about dogs apply to Zoe. She is suspiciously like a cat in that she has a personality that can only be called aloof. I know I sound like a guilty mother, but I think I did all the right things bringing her up. I kept her by my bed when we first brought her home and she was a 12-week-old puppy, missing her mom and sibs. Really, doc, I did my best.

Still, she prefers to sit by herself, on a cushy piece of furniture, for sure, but one that is not previously occupied. She jumps into our bed at night but doesn’t touch. She will come when called, but only if she feels like it. You could wave a piece of liver at her and she just might decide to stay on the sofa and stare you down.

There was a time when I could carry her from room to room with ease and safety. Last year she bit me when I tried to pick her up. It was, truly, the unthinkable, and I almost fainted, not from the pain but from the shock. She probably has arthritis, and I must have hit a hot spot. But now I respect her private space, whether her need is emotional or physical.

Common wisdom also claims that dogs are fiercely loyal. Who hasn’t read the story of the lost dog who jumps on airplanes, flags down buses and then hitchhikes 600 miles to the family that loves him? That wouldn’t be Zoe.

Recently I left her for several weeks while we were traveling. When we came home, she seemed not to know me at first. This might be on the spectrum of geriatric symptoms she has been exhibiting, or it could just be Zoe, giving us the big chill.

Unlike other dogs, and like many cats, she’s a picky eater. She always gets kibble, her staple, but she won’t eat it unless it’s sprinkled with an extra goodie, like shredded chicken, hamburger or salmon, which she prefers grilled, no mustard, please.

One of the other cliches about dogs is that they believe their humans to be the smartest creatures in their universe and love them unconditionally. Loving Zoe is more humbling. I have to work for her affection, tickle her belly when she feels like it, and dazzle her with peanut biscuits and tastes of vanilla ice cream.

What do I get out of it? I get to love her with all my heart, the lover being more divine than the beloved, of course. 

In a 2003 survey, 52 percent of respondents said their dog was the “best listener” in the family. Spouses were a distant second, with only 31 percent of respondents considering them the best listener.

I understand that. When I talk to Zoe, she does listen. She flexes her ears and she fixes her eyes on mine as if she is really, really interested in what I have to say. I hate to compare, but my husband hardly ever flexes his ears.

Zoe gets the honors this year, and I believe I have the perfect canine valentine. I’ll grill some steak, cut it into tiny pieces and sprinkle it into her kibble. Then, no doubt, she will wipe her snout on the couch pillows in a fit of glee, then nuzzle into my neck, smelling of elder dog and freshly cooked barbeque. 

Randi Kreiss is a columnist for our sister publications in Nassau County, N.Y., the Herald newspapers. She can be reached at randik3@aol.com. Point of view is a column open to all.