Seventeen is an amazing accomplishment. Dusty lived a long, full life, longer and fuller than most. He was loved and cared for. He had a scoop of pumpkin on his food every day (good for the old bowels) and his mom sang him funny songs. I do the same for my old guy, only substitute yogurt and fish oil for the pumpkin.
Still, no matter how much we love them, care for them, threaten them with treat restriction if they even think of dying, they will die and that’s a really crappy thing. If only Barley could live with me my whole life. If he could be attached to me, so that when I die, he could come along so that neither of us ever had to be without the other. If only, if only.
I type this tonight as my old man snores on my lap, cutting off the circulation to my legs and forcing me to contort over the keyboard, careful not to disturb the rhythm of his snores. There’s no better place in the world at this moment. My sweet boogieman, the love of my life, let there be more moments just like this.
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