


My Sunday started and ended with me cleaning up “accidents” from our 14-year-old Lab. My husband thinks it’s our fault, that we didn’t let him out enough. That’s true -- he’s having a harder time getting up and down the stairs, plus he ran away a few months back, so we’re awfully stingy with the outside time.
But my gut is telling me that our beloved pet just doesn’t have the bladder control he used to. For a 14-year-old dog, he’s actually in quite good health, but obviously he won’t live forever.
We picked him out my freshman year in college, back in 1994. His brothers and sisters were all wriggling and squirming and fighting, but as I sat cross-legged on the ground, he walked calmly over and crawled into my lap. And that was all it took for him to become a member of our family. He came home with us that day, and he and my husband have been inseparable ever since.
I’m not ready to think about what’s coming, but I know that it’s coming. For now, I’ll keep my rubber gloves nearby and try to live in the moment.