The Cookie Chronicles - Chapter 21-Where's your ball!

As every dog owner knows, we can learn as much or more from our fur brothers and sisters as they learn from us. It’s often noted how some of us actually come to physically resemble our dogs. But there are other ways in which dog and owner can mirror each other.

As Cookie reached a birthday milestone this summer – turning 10 in human years, which brought her right up against retirement age in dog years – it became clear to us that she is entering the same stage of life that we are in. She’s still fit and healthy, still clear-eyed and joyful, funny, and smart. And yet...

She sleeps a lot more than she used to. She’s putting on weight. She chases after the ball once or twice, but after that, she tucks him away – game over.

None of this is surprising or worrisome. But there is something that has recently begun happening that might be. More and more often, she forgets where she’s hidden, Mr. B.

As noted in Chronicle chapter three, Mr. B is much more than just a dog toy. For Cookie, he’s a wingman, a security blanket, a constant companion, and a secret decoder for important communications. As such, she has always kept a close watch on his whereabouts.

Now granted, there have been more than a few occasions where I got a bit over-zealous with the Chuck-it, and Mr. B ended up in the upper branches of our blue spruce. In fact, he once spent the better part of two years up there before the wind knocked him down. Mr. B has also put in more than a few days on the roof and vanished into various shrubs and bushes after an errant throw. That’s on me, not on Cookie. And there is always a back-up ball waiting in the wings.

But this is different. A number of times this past summer, her ball has disappeared when I haven’t even thrown it. For reasons unknown, Cookie hides it somewhere in the yard, maybe to start a game of hide and seek, maybe just to have Mr. B in a safe secret place that only she can find. Except she can’t find it either. She’s like a squirrel forgetting where the nuts are buried.

It’s a lot like looking for your car keys, or reading glasses, or cellphone. These are things that bedevil me almost daily. When I task Cookie with the command to “go find Mr. B!” she’ll begin a full investigation, racing and sniffing around the entire perimeter of the yard. And I will join in, looking under shrubs and behind bushes and inside all the odd little nooks and crannies where a hiding place might be.

Usually, one of us will find him. (It helps that Mr. B glows in the dark.) But sometimes we don’t. Most recently, he vanished on a sunny and warm late summer afternoon (remember those!) and still has not been found. I’m dead certain I didn’t throw him, and equally certain Cookie didn’t take him outside of the fences. He’s in here somewhere, and neither one of us has been able to find him. I suspect he’s hunkered down next to a very nice pair of prescription glasses that Mrs. G lost track of while gardening last spring.

Be that as it may, it leads me to worry that this sort of senior moment might be a precursor to some sort of dog dementia. Does such a thing even exist?

Sadly, it does, and as usual, details are to be found from a variety of internet sources. The Bark (www.thebark.com/content/canine-dementia-signs-symptoms-treatments) has a fancy name for it – Canine Cognitive Dysfunction (CCD) – and defines it as “an age-related neurobehavioral syndrome in dogs leading to a decline in cognitive function.”

At the Dog Dementia website (https://dogdementia.com) you’ll find symptoms to watch for, a printable checklist, resources for dog owners, special toys for senior dogs, true accounts from pet owners who have dealt with CCD, and a link to an entire book about caring for a dog with dementia.

If you’re a daytime tv news watcher, you are probably familiar with the endless barrage of drug ads addressing a blizzard of afflictions, most of which you’ve never heard of. These invariably include a horrifying rundown of potential side effects and the admonition to “Ask your doctor!”

It turns out that last advice is the best advice. I’m happy to note that Cookie displays none of CCD’s serious symptoms and losing track of her ball is probably no worse than me forgetting where I left my cellphone. But I’ll keep a close watch (if I can remember to do so). And if things start to slide downhill, it’s off to the vet. Maybe there’s a brain enhancing supplement for dogs, like the one I’ve seen advertised with the ingredient originally found in jellyfish.