Yesterday was Cutter’s 11th birthday (June 5)! We didn’t do much out of the ordinary; I mean, he doesn’t know what a birthday is, so I don’t celebrate per se. In years past I’ve been known to put a birthday party hat on them and take a photo or three, but that’s about as far as it goes. He did get a fresh egg on his dinner (laid that day), as did the other two dogs, but that was more for me than him, since treats with dinner aren’t all that rare. Mostly I just hugged him a little more. Which he hates.
It really is a small miracle that he’s still chugging along at age 11. It’s getting up there for a Rottweiler, a breed that isn’t nearly as robust as they look. Tough, yes, but not durable. My previous Rottweilers haven’t made it past 12 (my first lived to 12 1/4) and with Cutter’s issues, well, every day is amazing. He had a few seizures this week, but they stopped after day three (his birthday) and it’s been “quiet” today. Fingers crossed. (I spoke too soon…he just had another mini. And another. Here we go…sigh.)
He’s still radioactively cute, if a bit curmudgeonly now. There are times when I could weep at the loss of the dog he was–canine epilepsy stole a lot from us–but despite these issues he’s a strong dog with the heart of a lion. He wouldn’t still be here if he weren’t so strong. The anti-seizure meds leave him a little dopey and sometimes zombie-like, and he’s weaker than I’d like him to be, but overall I am amazed and grateful he’s still with me in body and mind and enjoying life, after spending over half his life with the specter of epilepsy hanging over us like the Sword of Damocles. But, epilepsy or no, I’m glad he came into my life. He’s a wonderful, one in a million dog, and I love him to bits.
Happy Birthday, Cutter-butter. You’re my best Buddy.