What a Senior Dog Teaches You About Patience and Slowing Down

This morning, Copper stopped on the sidewalk again. Not from something he saw, or a need to sniff a spot. Just to stop.

I ended up three steps ahead when I realized he wasn’t next to me. He turned and simply stood still, staring into nothing and just breathing.

I walked back to him and said, “You okay, bud?”

That little tail wag said he was fine. Just needed a minute.

We used to walk 2 miles every day. Now we are happy to get to the end of the block and some days that feels like enough. The route hasn’t changed but the pace has. Instead of strolling with purpose, we just stroll. Instead of Copper walking to my pace, now we are at his.

It’s taken me longer to adjust than it should have.

For years, I decided when the walk was over. The distance, direction, and timing was completely within my control. Copper followed because that’s what he did. He trusted me to lead and I never questioned myself about going too fast.

The reality is now he gets to decide. His legs are stiff, and his back sometimes delays him on the porch. It’s not exercise, it’s just the two of us. The walk isn’t about exercise anymore, he still loves being outside. He still gets excited when I reach for the leash.

I have started to leave my phone at home. This isn’t a big show of commitment to be more mindful, but I realized I was pulling out my phone every time there was a pause in activity while out, distracting myself instead of just standing there with Copper. And Copper pauses all of the time during our walks. Sometimes he stops to rest. Sometimes he stops to check out a bird. Sometimes, oh like this morning, he stops for reasons that I will just never get.

At first I felt a bit impatient. Not angry exactly, just a bit restless. I like to get stuff done, and my big walk with my dog was meant to be 20 minutes, not 40. I found myself trying to encourage him to keep moving by gently pulling the leash.

Then one day I just stopped trying.

I let him control the pace, and if that meant standing there for minutes in the middle of the sidewalk, we stood there. And if that meant sniffing the same patch of grass he sniffed the day before, whatever. If he was over the walk and needed to turn back or turn around, we turned around.

And then something was different.

The walks got a lot more peaceful. I really began to see, and not just, things that almost were the same everyday. I noticed the light on the neighbors fence in the morning. I noticed flowers by a neighbors house that I had smelled a thousand times and had just never registered before. Copper was different too. His breathing was really consistent and calm and it was great to finally notice that.

Watching him has also become part of my routine. Is it the same head tilt every time he hears a dog barking three streets away? Does he really try to chase the leaf? Although he is unable to move his legs, the leaf is never out of reach. As far as opportunity, he looks up at me every so often, even if it is just to check in, to make sure I’m still there.

It is an experience I would not have anticipated, watching a dog age. I have seen him adapt to my pace, my schedule, even my needs, and it is sad to realize how much of his life has been spent this way. But finally, he has the opportunity to take care of me, and I am grateful.

This morning, after Copper’s long pause on the sidewalk, we kept going. He stopped two more times before we made it home. I didn’t rush him. I didn’t check my watch. I just walked beside him, and when he stopped, I stopped too.

Walking with him is a gift, and not everyone knows how to appreciate it. It is a reward unlike any other, and unlike most other things in life, it is not a function of time.