Wednesday, June 22, 2016
It is sad to own an ancient dog who gallantly tries to keep up her loving habits. Slowly she follows me up and down the stairs, up and down the stairs, her hips trembling with the struggle. She takes her daily visits to the compost pile, to the chipmunk hole under the propane tank. In the cool of the evening she sits bolt upright on the stoop and gazes blindly into her darkening domain.