In the past month, I had a feeling it was happening. Cogniscently, it registered that this was an inevitability. I was counting down the hours, though no one tells you how many there are to count. Work. School. Food. Mess. Things don't slow down in the last days, they speed up. Little things eat up more time than you ever thought they would. Food. Bread. Toast. Butter. Take the bag out of the fridge. Take a slice out. Put it down. Wait. In the meantime, see if she needs anything.
Some days were better than others. We didn't go for walks anymore, but pride made her champion up and down those stairs every time. In her later years, she wobbled, but accepted no help. If a dog could show disdain, she managed it better than any other. She started to turn her nose up at her old food. We gave her canned. After six months, she turned her nose up at that. We gave her the vet stuff. The good stuff. The lamb-and-rice premium aged dog formula. I think my dog beca