I sit here on the back patio, just having finished a cigar and sipping the last whiskey for the evening. My dog, advanced in years and with ever creeping hip problem turns her face to me for loves. My hands, aged enough to look like a mix of my father’s and mother’s hands give a gentle heartfelt and sympathetic affection to her big, grateful face. Empathy is felt for her as well. Age has brought to me aches and pains of the back and the foot. Hate to see the way she slowly lays down and stands up. Movements requiring more time… as too it does with me. This beautiful evening, as I hold her grateful and sorrowful face in my hands a thought occurs for the first time. I say to her, low and with truth from the heart, “Growing old ain't for the weak”.
Such a good dog. It’s gonna pain me when she leaves.
Such a good dog. It’s gonna pain me when she leaves.