Christmas in Italy. No one speaks English. My fourteen-year-old dog is bleeding.
I’m on the phone trying to sound professional in a language I barely know. The vet is open. The phrasebook is useless. I didn’t memorize “my geriatric border collie has a UTI.” I memorized “where is the metro.”
Jess isn’t young anymore. Neither am I, really, though the number hasn’t caught up with the feeling. We left Scotland four weeks prior. This is the first crack in the plan. The first sign that the easy life is over.
I still remember Dad saying “fine” when I pestered him for a puppy. It had been seven years since Glen, our previous dog, died. My mom and I had worn them down. Guilt is a powerful motivator when you are sixteen and obsessed. We brought Jess home. A scruffy sheepdog who needed a family. We found ours.
She was everywhere. University moves. Graduation. The proposal. The wedding aisle where she strutted like the cutest flower girl ever conceived. She was there for the good stuff. The loud stuff. When we decided to leave the country permanently, the decision wasn’t debated. Jess comes or we stay.
People don’t believe she is fourteen. She still chases Mara, her four-year-old sister, around European city centers with the enthusiasm of a yearling. She sprints. She barks. She exists loudly.
We aimed for Paris first. Then Turin. Then chaos.
Six months later? Five countries. Trams, trains, cable cars, gondolas. She ate cheese in Rome markets. She floated through Venice canals. She made friends who shouted at her in languages she couldn’t comprehend. Adventure looked good on Instagram. The wagging tail at the Colosseum. The sun-drenched photo by the Seine.
But behind the feed? Reality is harder.
That Christmas day taught me something. The vet was kind. The antibiotics worked. Jess survived. Italy is surprisingly dog-friendly, unlike some other places. But the relief wasn’t just medical. It was the realization of how fragile it all is.
I had packed for disaster. Medications filled half my suitcase. Supplements. Two of her favorite squeaky toys in case Italian shops were barren. I mentally rehearsed the worst. She wouldn’t make it back to Scotland. She would stay here. I thought I was prepared for grief. I wasn’t prepared for logistics.
Traveling with an animal is exhausting. You are carrying their survival kit on your back while hopping between buses in cities you don’t know. The photos don’t show the days we canceled plans because she was too tired. Too hot. Too done. We wanted to see the sights. She just wanted a nap in the shade.
Her age dictates my pace. Not my ego.
I stopped trying to conquer Europe in a day. I stopped rushing. We sit now. Longer. Slower. I watch her drink her Aperol (or rather, watch me drink mine while she naps) in her favorite Italian spot. I sit by the river in Bosnia, turning pages in a book while she inspects them with a wet nose. We don’t climb every mountain. We take the expensive trains instead of flying because her legs thank us later.
Is it better? Yes. But it is slower.
If I didn’t have a fourteen-year-old dog, I’d be different. I’d be busier. Harder. I might summit peaks I currently admire from a distance. I wouldn’t care if a day felt “wasted.” Now, those quiet days feel vital. They are the trip.
I’m turning thirty soon. The teenage girl begging for a pet is gone. The bride with flowers in her dog’s harness is gone. Jess is no longer the explosive force that runs faster than human legs can follow. She is softer now. Slower. Precious because it is running out.
We are in a new chapter. Probably the last one. I am not ready to face a world without her voice, without her weight on the sofa. But I don’t get to keep her forever. No one does.
My goal isn’t longevity anymore. It’s happiness. Contentment. A full water bowl. A good spot in the sun.
So I spend my days in coffee shops. Watching the street. Waiting for her to open her eyes. These quiet, uneventful hours feel more significant than any landmark we’ve checked off the list. I want to remember these. Not the monuments. The moments.
Jess is here. For now. I am just lucky to be beside her. 🐕🍂
