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For my aging dog

You sigh, as it gets dark,
from that spot on your bed.

Pretending to sleep,
but I say your name
and that tail wags.

We love our long walks. You play.
You push past the others to catch your ball.
You climb the rocks at the beach.
Muscles strong. Senses alert.
You launch yourself to the sea.

You also limp home, sometimes.

On hikes, you crash up mountains.
You grab branches in your mouth.
You do not lose track of me.

But I see you steady yourself
before jumping into the car.

My graying, aging dog.

Not old. Not young.

We jog. You set the pace (always have).
But now I’m the one slowing for you.
That’s OK. You did the same for me.
You’re such a good dog, Ace.

We don’t play much fetch. It makes you sore.
We race. You let me win.

We joke around a lot, don’t we? Lots of tricks.
We go camping. We sing duets.
We go to coffee shops. You lie at my feet.
Big, brown eyes watching.

Every day, five or six times, I kiss that low spot between your eyes.
Rub your soft ears.
See the gray fur on your legs, your feet, tip of that tail.

To my aging dog.

Not old. Not young.

You’re such a good boy.
You look up at me. Those brown eyes staring.

You have big plans.

“What should we do today?”

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Wednesday 19th of February 2014

What a sweet tribute. Sometimes it is hard seeing them age.


Tuesday 18th of February 2014

This made me cry! So sweet. He waited for you, now you slow down for him.

Lindsay Stordahl

Tuesday 18th of February 2014



Tuesday 18th of February 2014

Lindsay - That is so well done and just lovely. Your words, descriptions and emotions really resonated with me. Give Ace a pat for me. I know my guys miss you!

Lindsay Stordahl

Tuesday 18th of February 2014

Thank you! I miss you and your dogs as well.

Ruckus the Eskie

Tuesday 18th of February 2014

What should we do today?!


Tuesday 18th of February 2014

That is beautiful and what a great idea. My mom says it fits her and my senior sis Katie. Well done!