The Whole Landscape Becomes Magnified
I felt him behind me before I heard him — the rumble of an old work truck, slowing down. "Hey there, old timer…" the driver called out, nodding at my charge that day: a 14-year-old Labrador with a fresh cancer diagnosis, osteoarthritis that had been along for the ride for a while now, and a muzzle so gray it looked like he'd stuck his face in a bowl of powdered sugar. I rolled my eyes — privately — then turned and gave a polite nod. Comments like that don't bother me much anymore. I've come to understand they're usually less about the dog and more about the person saying them — a reflexive way to deflect the discomfort of being reminded, out of nowhere, that life is short and bodies fail. I get it. There are bigger things to focus on. Like being safe. I don't see the world as a scary place. If you handle dogs for a living , you accept that it can be, under the wrong conditions — and that with training and skill, it's a lot less so. Defensive handlin...