I Am Resting. Not Oblivious.
There appears to be some concern about my age.
Apparently, I am eighteen.
The humans keep mentioning this as though it's news.
I was there for all eighteen years. I'm perfectly aware.
They've also noticed that I spend most of my time in bed these days.
In the dining room, to be precise.
I rarely feel the need to go anywhere else.
Why would I?
Everything I require is conveniently located nearby, and the humans are perfectly capable of coming to me.
They seem to think my world has become smaller.
I prefer to think of it as becoming more efficient.
After eighteen years, I've discovered that most things happening in this household don't actually require my physical presence.
That doesn't mean I'm unaware of them.
Quite the opposite.
I know exactly what's going on.
I simply don't see why I should have to get up to demonstrate it.
Eighteen Years of Experience
I've seen quite a few changes in this household.
Different homes.
Different routines.
Different companions.
There was Jasper, of course.
A rather gangly Boxer, if I'm being perfectly honest.
All legs and elbows.
But underneath that slightly ridiculous dog-shaped exterior, I always suspected he was more cat than dog.
He understood the important things in life.
A comfortable place to sleep.
The value of doing absolutely nothing.
And the importance of companionship without the constant need to make a fuss.
We spent many happy hours curled up together.
He was good company.
For a dog.
And coming from me, that's quite a compliment.
Then, many years later, came Charlie.
A perfectly pleasant fellow, although rather more enthusiastic than I considered necessary.
And then Elsie arrived.
Good grief.
The humans insist she's a lady.
A lady?
I've been on this earth for eighteen years, and I know a pig when I see one.
Honking and trotting about the place, snuffling into everything and making an extraordinary amount of noise for a creature supposedly descended from wolves.
Frankly, I've seen farmyard animals conduct themselves with greater dignity.
She's affectionate, apparently.
Personally, I think she simply lacks an understanding of personal space.
And volume control.
Definitely volume control.
Fortunately, the humans eventually recognised that I preferred a quieter existence.
It took them long enough.
The Dining Room Department
These days, I operate almost exclusively from my dining-room headquarters.
I have a comfortable bed.
My own water fountain.
An automatic feeder.
A litter tray conveniently positioned nearby.
And arrangements to prevent the Boxer department from making unnecessary visits.
Frankly, it's an improvement on having to wander around the house looking for things.
The humans seem pleased with themselves for organising all this.
I haven't the heart to tell them it's simply what I've always deserved.
I enjoy the warmth.
The familiar sounds.
The occasional company.
And the considerable satisfaction of knowing that, while everyone else is rushing about, I have absolutely nowhere I need to be.
Russ works in the dining room most days.
Naturally, I supervise.
He even puts the fire on for me.
He claims it's because he knows I enjoy the warmth.
I suspect he simply appreciates having someone of my experience overseeing his work.
Occasionally, I leave my bed and settle beside the fire.
A change of scenery is important, after all.
And sometimes, when I feel he's been particularly well behaved, I'll wander over to his table to say hello.
He seems rather pleased when I do.
It's important to reward the humans occasionally.
Otherwise, they lose motivation.
Then, when I've had enough company, I return to bed.
Russ can manage without supervision for a little while.
Probably.
Just Because I'm Quiet...
Now, there is one matter I would like to address.
Just because I'm lying in bed with my eyes closed doesn't mean I'm asleep.
And even when I am asleep, it doesn't mean I'm entirely unaware of the general incompetence taking place around me.
I hear the humans talking.
I know when someone enters the room.
I know when Charlie is nearby.
And I certainly know when Elsie is making a spectacle of herself.
I simply choose not to respond to every little thing.
At eighteen, I've earned that privilege.
I've also noticed the humans watching me a little more closely these days.
They worry when I don't get up.
They notice when I eat a little less.
They seem surprised that I no longer move around with quite the enthusiasm I once did.
Apparently, growing older is something they find rather difficult to accept.
Personally, I think I'm managing it extremely well.
Even the vet seemed impressed.
Naturally.
Still Mooby
I've had eighteen years of adventures, friendships, comfortable beds and occasionally questionable decisions made by humans.
I've watched this family grow and change.
I've loved my companions.
I've tolerated the newcomers.
And I've developed a remarkable ability to express disappointment without saying a word.
These days, I don't need to explore every room.
I don't need to investigate every noise.
I don't even need to open my eyes to know when something ridiculous is happening.
My world may be quieter.
My days may be slower.
But I'm still here.
Still listening.
Still watching.
And, naturally...
Still judging.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a very important appointment with my bed.
Mooby
Senior Household Supervisor. Eighteen years' experience. Currently accepting visitors by appointment only.
Every Grey Hair Tells a Story
Mooby's experiences are part of the inspiration behind SEE THE WORLD... Through Ageing, one of our premium digital publications from Let Sleeping Dogs Lie.
Our SEE THE WORLD... collection is a little different from a traditional dog care guide.
These beautifully designed, coffee-table-style digital lookbooks explore important subjects through the eyes of our companions, combining thoughtful reflections, practical guidance and the calm principles of Dog Listening.
They're also deeply personal.
Throughout the collection, you'll meet our own exclusive cast of characters, including Charlie, Elsie, Jasper and, of course, Mooby.
Their real stories, experiences and personalities help bring each subject to life.
In SEE THE WORLD... Through Ageing, we explore how our companions' needs change as they grow older, how their world can begin to feel different and how small, thoughtful adjustments can make everyday life more comfortable, confident and fulfilling.
Mooby features in two personal stories, sharing how we've adapted our home around his changing needs while respecting his independence and his unmistakable personality.
Because growing older doesn't mean becoming someone different.
Sometimes it simply means experiencing the world differently.
And as Mooby would undoubtedly remind us...
Just because I'm resting doesn't mean I've stopped paying attention.
Premium Digital Publication | £24.99
Explore the later chapters of your companion's life through thoughtful storytelling, practical ideas and a fresh perspective on growing older.
Part of the SEE THE WORLD... premium digital publication collection by Let Sleeping Dogs Lie.
Calm creates connection. Consistency builds trust. One calm step at a time.
Comments