Senior black lab for adoption – Dora!
It’s hard not to feel sorry for an older dog like Dora, but I don’t feel sorry for her. I don’t think she feels sorry for herself, and I don’t think she wants anyone to feel sorry for her.
I do wonder about her, though. She always has me thinking.
Does she think of her past family, whoever they were? Probably not.
Does she accept me as her new family? She seems to.
Does she think this is her home now? To her, is it like she’s lived here her whole life?
What does she dream of when she sleeps so soundly, gently moving all four paws?
And the most difficult question, how do I know when it’s her time?
If she were Ace, would I be treating her any differently?
How much pain is she in? I don’t know, because she can’t tell me.
Is she happy? She seems happy.
Will she let me know when she’s ready to go? I don’t expect that from her. To me, that’s a way of avoiding a difficult decision. Dogs depend on us to make those choices.
Will someone adopt her? Who is, and where is, that person?
Should I adopt her?
Can I realistically afford the added costs and burdens of an older dog? No, not really.
If Dora and I had one day together, one last day, what would she like to do?
What did she love to do in her younger days, in her prime?
I imagine she was a typical lab who loved to run and chase sticks and swim. She does love a good strip of bacon, too, and to roll around on her back – grabbing and nipping. This is her version of “play wrestling.”
What does she want from me?
Just love, I guess. Acceptance. A consistent routine. My time.