Our dog, Bela, is 12 now--what's that, 84 in dog years?
He's on some new pain meds that have helped a lot, but his joints are, like my knees, problematic.
He hesitates to go up steps without help. Jumping on the bed is an issue.
I tend to stay downstairs or upstairs longer than I would normally just so he doesn't have to navigate the steep steps in our 1850 house.
Jumping in the car or Bern's truck is tricky--as is jumping out. He slips on our hardwood floors downstairs.
He eats like a champ and sleeps well, but his body just isn't what it used to be and he is coward-ed by things like he's never been.
He's so much a part of our lives--bad, bad dog that he is--that watching him breaks my heart.
Getting old isn't a bed of roses, that's for sure.
Lordy, lordy, Bela, it's so hard to see you like this....
No comments:
Post a Comment