Sometimes, I think it’s just me who’s the old dog around here, but really, it’s the Little Dog. It’s been praying on my mind that she’s 18. 18! That’s like 5017 in human years, and even though she eats a good amount, she’s getting that old age skinny look to her that old lady’s get sometimes. When I pick her up, her legs are jangly too, like a marionette’s. She’s a little blind, a lot deaf, and a tad senile. She slipping away. I know it, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I put her on the sofa with me tonight and covered her with her binky while the Big Guy and I watched a movie. She snores like a freight train and if you shake her to wake her up, she won’t wake up. It scares the Be-Jesus out of me. I think I might have to run the snoring tyke to the pet emergency hospital some night, and then what would I say to them?
“My dog is snoring like a freight train, and I can’t wake her up. She be scary.”
Plus she sleeps with her eyes open. Sometimes I try to close them.
I dunno. I want to hold her all the time now, but she can’t stand that. She’s a very hands off creature. People who come to visit think she doesn’t like them, and you know what? She probably doesn’t. She doesn’t fool with people. She doesn’t have to. She’s 5017.