I was in the hills along the Thai-Burmese border, planting rice and appeasing the gods. A movement on the edge of awareness made me look up from my book, and there was Moisey, struggling to stand from his bed in front of the fire. Something about the exquisitely sensual dance of the rice planters had enabled me to see Moisey’s pain as his hind-quarters strove to obey the message to RISE, and failed. Some agonising moments later Moisey did get all 4 paws on the floor and shambled out to pee. I heaved a sigh of relief, put down Fieldwork by Mischa Berlinski, and looked around.

Moisey was born in 1998. A canine septuagenarian. Lying next to him is Pepper, doyenne of dogs and alpha female, now 14 human – a solid 100 canine – years old. Then there’s Cookie 12, Truper 12, Princess 10, Lea 12, Pemba 9, Samuel 10, Cuti 10, Alex 8, Olaf 9, Zena The Warrior Queen 10 – Holy Guacamole, I’m living with a bunch of geriatrics! How do I manage to get out of bed in the morning?

How, indeed. Oh those aching muscles. Oh the cosiness of the bed and its warmth and comfort, while the dawn barely glimmers beyond the curtains. Wouldn’t it be nice to luxuriate just a few more moments … But no! Some are old and some are young and all 15 house dogs are ready – impatient, even – to hit the trail. “Un-gum those eyelids, Walker!” they bark, loudly. “And make it snappy!”

Do they know their age? Is Moisey still a pup in his own eye (he lost one to glaucoma)? Princess certainly has never slowed down, and gambols, springs and lunges like Jackie Chan, Play Leader extraordinaire. Truper – car-accident victim at age 1, bent and crooked ever since – runs and capers with a knowing smile on her white-rimmed face, breathing easily. Samuel, leading male at 70 human years, has zero trouble facing down these 4 young athletic males. Are these old dogs Yogis?

So what is age? Is it necessarily decrepitude? Is it necessarily a bowing out to youth? Is it necessarily a retreat into the backround – an admission of irrelevance? Or is it a continuation, a growth, an expansion – as much of the pouches and the wrinkles as of the compassion and the understanding, the grasp and the reach?

Meanwhile Moisey lopes off down the track, torn ligament and all. The pups race in chaotic loops till Samuel steps in sternly, and none of the youngsters know which way to run till Princess shows them. Sure, these guys’ social organization is aided by a certain intellectual simplification, a certain emotional willingness, an unconflicted group mentality. Time for them is a continuum, unbroken by thoughts of before or after. I just figured it out: they live until they die.

How old are you?

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