Choya is 9!

Choya turned nine years old. I don't know how to feel about that. She has been this solemn, mature and fairly responsible girl since she was maybe three years old. She has been the sweetest thing. She is even more bonded to us now, and in the recent two years, she could literally read my mind. 

A healthy Shiba-ken's median lifespan is 14.5 years. That's a fairly long time compared to the other breeds. I've heard of Shibas living till 16 years old and are relatively okay. A Shiba-ken is considered a senior dog when it reaches 10 years of age. I'm not seeing symptoms of her slowing down just yet. But she will, soon. 

When I'm so focused on myself aging strongly and as healthily as I can, you have no doubt that I can do the same for Choya. I can read, educate myself and better understand her aging process. She is genetically disposed to certain diseases — gangliosidosis, glaucoma and a range of eye defects, luxating patella, hip dysplaxia, and canine cognitive dysfunction (CCD), and such. I can help with joint and muscles, but not with her immune system and what her genetic code has dictated. I can only hope that what I have done is sufficient to help her immune system age gently. 

To think that I didn't even want her to begin with, and I was a tad resentful that the husband insisted for us to have her when I wasn't even ready for a dog in the home. Pffffft. Now she rules the home and our schedules. She positively dictates mine. I dread to think of the day I accept that she's declining, and I dread the day she passes. And for the husband too, I'm sure he doesn't want to face her decline. She's his first dog, and she's got him wrapped up in her little paws.  

This girl is absolutely confident, reassured and comfortable. She doesn't go ape-shit at other dogs. She's calm and snobbish. She likes being with us, but she doesn't have separation anxiety. Only a phobia of thunderstorms. She doesn't know what a horrible human is (may she never), or how it's like to go without food and clean water. I don't scold her anymore. She can do no wrong. I was a lot more terrified of losing her when she was younger because of her tendency to bolt and that zero recall. Now, she's more settled, but she still makes me do a 200-meter sprint annually when she decides to run amok in the estate's carpark on a whim. Zzzzzz. 

When she's running free on the beach or on a big patch of grass, and she comes bounding towards me when I call her, my heart melts. When she has big feelings and needs to do zoomies after an outing and before we get into the car to go home, she gets to do zoomies to her heart's content. 

She's Miss Sticky-Paws to me, my little shadow. My beautiful girl. Ahhhh... ... ... my heart. She'll be my greatest heartbreak in this life.