Once, she ruled her corner of the world. She made the rules and enforced them; went where she pleased; and returned at her leisure. Her inferiors shaped their schedules around hers.

Now she spends her days inside the house, preoccupied with a few trinkets and content to stay in one spot for hours. To me, it’s sad.

So I’m really looking forward to the day when the veterinarian says we can turn our dog loose on the farm again.

She had to head for the sidelines after surgery for a leg problem. Expensive surgery, with roughly three more legs to go. The medical experts ordered house rest, which has gone on for weeks now.

But to her, it’s no big deal. I’ve been disappointed to see how quickly she adapted to such a boring existence. I always admired her high-energy attitude, if not her logic – I mean, really, why stand outside our bedroom window and bark all night?

Now she seems to have forgotten that life was ever anything more than a series of uneventful minutes. Mostly she lies on the floor in the way, desperate for attention, which for some reason makes me wonder what it’s like to be retired.

The thought probably springs to mind because I know so many people who are retiring early, even though the conventional wisdom is that we’ll all have to work until we’re 70. My friends are either geniuses or idiots, and I’m curious to find out which.

If they’re anything like our dog, they should be just fine. When we take her outside to her former workplace, she does her thing and is content to head right back indoors. No sign of wistfulness at all.

“Don’t you want to look for some deer to herd?” I ask her. No response. “I think that squirrel just insulted you,” I tell her. “Shouldn’t he be chased up a tree?” Apparently not.

The wild animals were not cocky back in her heyday. All of God’s creatures, or at least the small ones, lived with the kind of uneasy feeling that Sigourney Weaver experienced in “Alien.” But now we wake up to a throng of rabbits and chipmunks hanging out on the patio as if waiting for someone to tap a keg.

At the height of her career, she collected guys like that as trophies. These days, she wanders through the kitchen with a stuffed toy in her mouth. Pitiful.

It’s like seeing former President George H.W. Bush at a televised baseball game. He once was in charge of millions of citizens, international relations and a nuclear arsenal; now he just sits and watches, occasionally muttering to Bar, “They should walk this guy.”

No matter what you are, president or farm dog, things change when you sign off your computer or roll in the mud for the last time.

“Oh, we’re real scared,” the weather-hardened outdoor animals say when we open the door. “Hey, dog, nice pink leash.”

But what else can you do?

You could be more like our cat, I suppose, who was born retired and has managed to avoid the irritations of ambition ever since. As far as the outdoors is concerned, he’s like the typical National Football League fan. He enjoys watching, but he’s happy to avoid the pain.

So his philosophy is an option, but only if you don’t mind being described at your funeral as “a huge waste of protoplasm.”

No, it’s the dog that conjures images of retirement. She knew the excitement of being fully engaged with the world, then gave it up without a second thought. Maybe it’s inevitable that you get your fill of spooky coyote howls and snow in your face, and you’re perfectly happy with a squeak toy and carpeting.

Still, you’ll probably miss a few things. When one of our kids heads down the driveway to go on a long run without her, the dog watches intently through the window. Then she fidgets, whimpers and pees on the rug.