Zoomies at Almost Eight: Slower Laps, Same Joy
She is almost eight and still does her laps. Not the high-speed binkies of year two, more like happy 0.75-speed zoomies around my legs. Still my baby. This is a veteran athlete’s profile: the career, the adjusted training, the stats. Personal senior log, not veterinary advice, for aging, stiffness, or appetite changes I work with my vet and log for them. Old legs, young heart. I note movement daily so my vet sees the trend.
Career retrospective: years 2 to 8
Year two: full-speed rug-to-tile circuits, 8+ laps, triple binkies, the blur years. Year four: still fast, first rest pauses mid-session (logged without worry, noted). Year six: speed 0.9, binkies reserved for spring mornings. Year seven: the famous slowdown spring, laps halved for three weeks, vet check clear, speed returned at 0.8 with longer rests. Now, almost eight: happy 0.75-speed zoomies around my legs, 3 to 5 laps, binkies on good days only. The arc bends but never breaks. Other oldies report the same pattern: laps at three-quarter speed, binkies on good days only. Eleven-year-olds in other houses still hop daily, so we keep going.
Senior play rules in my house
- Rugs down, no slippery floors, the tile straight retired last year; the course is all-rug now with the same chair turn
- Short sessions, rest between, one 4-minute run max, then flop; second runs only if she requests (circles my feet means again)
- Log good days vs stiff days, G or S each evening, shared with the vet quarterly
We do rugs everywhere and quit while she still wants more. That last rule is the whole training philosophy: sessions end on a high with the athlete asking for more, never panting. Stiff-day protocol: no runs offered, extra mat on the path, hay pile moved closer, same cuddle hour kept. Monthly ratio this spring: 18 good, 9 stiff, 3 rest, written on the calendar in green, yellow, red dots. The dots make the trend visible from the doorway: green spring so far.
Senior play log: this month
Best session: April 9th, 5 laps at 0.8, one glorious spring binky, flop record 30 minutes after. Worst: April 14th, zero laps, stiff morning, extra mats, evening cuddle instead, logged S without drama. Average week: 4 run days, 2 cuddle-only days, 1 rest. Pre-run ritual unchanged since year two: mat check, water shift, burst mode on. Post-run: flop spot note, same as always. The joy metric needs no scale, 0.75-speed zoomies around my legs, same loop, same baby. Eight years of laps and counting; the legs set the pace now, and the pace is perfect.
The vet partnership: what the dots do
Quarterly, the calendar page goes to the vet: green-yellow-red dots, three months at a glance. Last visit the vet traced the spring greens and nodded, trend steady, no intervention, keep the rugs. That nod is the entire payoff of daily logging: professional eyes on honest data. What I bring: the dot calendar, the lap counts for run days, notes on the two stiffest weeks. What the vet brings: hands, ears, judgment. Between visits I change nothing on my own, no supplements, no routine overhauls, no internet remedies. The log’s job is observation; the vet’s job is conclusion. One page, three colors, four visits a year. The partnership works because each side stays in its lane and the rabbit sets the pace.
Joy audit, year eight
Quarterly joy inventory, because numbers miss it: binkies counted (11 this spring, each celebrated), flop quality (deep and frequent), greeting enthusiasm (waiting at the corner 4 of 7 mornings), appetite music (crunch volume unchanged, the hallway test). The audit always passes. Senior enrichment that earned its keep: the low tunnel (crawls instead of jumps now, same delight), the dig box with shredded paper (gentle version, supervised), the window perch at floor level (sun without climbing). Retired with honors: the high jump onto the couch (ramp installed year seven), the tile straight (all-rug course now). Old legs, young heart, the motto holds another season. Eight years young, lapping still.
Closing lap notes: the 0.75-speed zoomie remains the house’s favorite sight, slower, closer, somehow sweeter than the blur years. Today’s session: 4 laps, 1 binky, 25-minute flop. Logged G, vet copy updated, rugs straightened for tomorrow. Eight years of evenings and the routine never bored either party. Young heart, old legs, same loop, same baby. Run on.
Letter to year-two speed: we remember the blur fondly and trade it gladly for the 0.75 trot that ends at my feet instead of past me. Every lap slower is a lap closer, physics of affection. The rugs stay down, the sessions stay short, the log stays honest. Eleven-year-olds hop daily in other houses; our eight-year-old leads the parade. Young heart, good.
Eight years lapping; the baby years blurred past, these years stroll, and strolling beside her beats watching her blur.
Still her baby, still lapping.
Laps logged, heart young.
Zoom on.
Always.
Lapping still.
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