Lauren Lejeune

I’ve decided the worst part about growing up is that your pets grow up with you, too. 

This is an obvious statement, but one that I have been learning about recently. When I was 13, I begged my parents to let me get a dog of my very own. Eventually they relented and I settled on a chocolate Lab, with a litter born right down the road and waiting to be picked out for their new homes. I settled on a chunky brown one that reminded me of a little bear cub, naming him after the cub in the Disney movie “Brother Bear.” Now, I’m coming up on year 23 of life with a 10-year-old Lab on my heels. 

It’s definitely strange thinking back to his puppy stage, when he could fit on the center console of my mom’s little Ranger truck, his napping spot. Then the lanky teenage stage, followed by a chunky stage due to my grandmother. We lived in her mother-in-law's cottage for some time. I would feed the dog before work, but as soon as I left, she would open the door and let him come hang out during the day, which entailed table scraps, dog treats and who knows what else. Koda went through a stage where he looked like a walking coffee table. 

There’s nothing wrong with Koda now, as he’s been healthy his whole life with no problems to speak of. But I’d say in the last couple of months I’ve noticed a slowness about him; longer stretches in the morning, a stiffer walk. And tired Lab eyes, more so than normal (Lab owners know what I’m talking about). 

We stay pretty active — lots of fetch and frolicking up on the bench. Nate and I take the dogs and we go on walks or run with the dogs. Koda is still active and ready to rock — for that I am thankful. I’ve been thinking about what life will be like when I don’t have my little shadow around to pick up dropped food, or being able to peacefully open the back gate without watching over my shoulder to see if Koda is going to try and escape. 

Koda will always be the one to greet you at the door with his hops. When he’s really excited, he kind of hops from one foot to the other, his dangerous tail hitting everything in its path. But if you’re not paying attention, he’ll take the opportunity to go for a run around the block. 

He’s always been a runner. If you left the door open for a split second, or didn’t have a hold on him, he’d bolt. Always. It didn't matter if he was tired from playing, he would go if he could. Koda always comes back, but I’ve spent countless hours looking for him, chasing him down the road while he looks back at me like it's a game. His older years have definitely curbed that habit, so I suppose that is something to be happy about. 

I can always count on him to sit with me. Every now and then, we have this understanding pass between us and he slinks up onto the couch with a sigh, settling in for a long nap. Early mornings with coffee always involve him getting ear scratches. Anywhere I go, if he can follow along, he’ll end up sleeping at my feet.

Koda has been with me through my school years, to our very first apartment and finally settling in our home where he’ll be for the rest of his years. He still has so much life to live, but if I dwell on it a little too long, it makes me so sad to think he might not be around long enough to see me have children. Quite frankly, I’m just not looking forward to him getting any older than he already is. 

For now, I’ll be focused on doing my best to make sure his last years are full of happiness, treats, snuggles and as many fetch sessions as we can get in.