I can feel Miss Mocha sleeping soundly behind my big comfy chair. No, she's not snoring or moaning or chasing bunnies in her sleep, she's simply there. Her birthday is coming up in October and she'll be 12. She's always been a strong, healthy dog only going to the vet for annual vaccinations. As more whiskers start to turn white on her brown nose, she's slowing down a little, showing some aches and pains and just a touch of little-old-lady crankiness.
This week she had her teeth cleaned and the vet had to extract a cracked tooth. I agonized over the decision to subject her to anesthesia at her age, but am glad I said yes. She seems to be bouncing back just fine.
These days, my mind opens the door (just a crack) to the reality that there will come a time when her presence will be but a memory. A warm, brown, sweet, bossy, snugly, romp-through-the-woods kind of memory.