I have mentioned that John and I went through a patch when we lost three relatively young dogs in a relatively short time. The shock and grief was awful.
So when Bingley turned Eight in September, it was a cause for serious celebration. Eight is senior status for a Greyhound. Now, he's more than Eight and a half. And recently, I noticed that his muzzle and face are slowly turning white. Bingley is becoming a Senior Citizen.
He still wants to chase rabbits. He still patrols the back yard for critters. He is still determined to go after small canines, refusing to believe that they are, indeed, dogs. And forget about cats!
But some mornings, he stays in bed all the time I'm dressing, right up to the moment that I open the bedroom door. He still runs a few laps around the living room while I leash and harness Magic, but I think he's slowing down, ever so slightly.
Frequently, I take his head in my hands, look into his soft brown eyes, and remind him that he is to live to be a Very Old Man. I pray he does. Living with a senior dogs is one of the great joys of life.