Ageism

  

    A few years ago, when sweet Mamie was still with us, mention of my perfect little dog would somehow end up in my conversation. 

       While with her previous owner, Mamie had had several litters. One day chatting with Kathy, an acquaintance at golf, dog ownership came up and to our great surprise, we realized that her own dog was one of Mamie’s daughters.

          Sadly, Mamie died before we could stage a reunion, and sadly again, my friend’s dog passed away this winter. I saw Kathy today and asked if she’d considered getting another. Yes, she was trying, but was unsuccessful.

          Two of her requirements weren’t unusual – small, hypoallergenic – and the third should actually have made it easier. She didn’t want a puppy; she’d happily take a senior dog. She’d looked at rescue sites on line, had been to shelters, and was having no luck.

          It wasn’t a matter of cost or lack of available dogs. It turns out Kathy – slim, trim, and athletic – was hitting a wall with just one aspect of all the applications. Her age. Kathy looks about 60, but is actually 77.

          I suppose you can understand a facility’s concern: a dog that now needs a home because its owners had been elderly and passed away doesn’t need to experience that all over again. But it’s a shame.