Some Days ...

Some days, you just feel your age.

Some days you are up all night, throwing up in four different spaces, unchewed hunks of bone covered in a soup of slime.  When you get up in the morning others clean up after you while you look mournfully at them.  But you bear it all with doggy dignity.  Not for you ego pricks, but you like to make it outside when you can.  You do, when you are not outright misbehaving, like to obey the rules.

Some days you wake up after a bad night and all your joints ache from the walk the day before.  Some days your old bones don't warm you.

Those days you follow her around the house.  Every time she gets up, you get up too, and follow her to wherever she is going.  She velcroes some extra padding on you, the coat reserved for days when it freezes outside, but you don't make the connection and you lie under the desk at her feet.  You try to climb up onto Chair, who is now living next to the computer, but your doggy coat clunks you up, and there you stand, half in Chair, half out, until she lifts you off and you just lie where you are, on the floor, while she cuts dream collage bits out of magazines and says things to you that you can't hear anymore because you're deaf.

Those days are not the ones you like best.  You like the days like yesterday, where you walked, and you played with the people, and you ate bones, and barked rudely at everybody when they did not do what you wanted.

But defining days as one better than the other is artistic licence on your pet's part.  You do not live there.  You are blessedly removed from anything other than here.

Here, you can bear the bad days with doggy grace.