I recently moved my dog Jack to assisted living. I knew it was time: he has escalating hygiene needs, he wanders, he is confused and he often puts himself in danger.
The assisted living facility is very nice. It has wide windows, many of which face south and east, letting in the warm, chunky rays of sun Jack loves to nap in. There is a lovely fenced in green lawn for him to stroll around and pee on flowers. The food is delicious: grain-free nibbles twice a day and healthy treats like pieces of apple, chicken, carrot and pea. The caretakers are generous, loving people.
The best part about the facility, however, is the cost. Some assisted living facilities can be inexpensive, but the one we put Jack in is downright affordable. That’s because my husband and I are his caretakers and the assisted living facility is our home.
Jack is a pug. A bug-eyed, brachycephalic, low-riding pug. He’s always been a happy, smart, if a little confused little character. But at the age of 13 he began to mark his territory not only outdoors, but also indoors – piano legs, sofa legs, chair legs. (If nothing else, the anthropomorphic use of the word “legs” for these furniture extensions tells us how wrong it is to pee on them.)