Gericatric

Here's our good boy enjoying his sunny spot on Easter. You can't tell, but he's 18, give or take, and blind, which has affected his mobility. He doesn't do stairs, and there have been accidents. The front porch now has everything he needs and he's consigned to it at night. I'm a stomach sleeper and miss his weighty presence on the back of my legs at night, but he seems content with his shrinking world. He eats, but I can tell when petting him that he's lost weight, and I'm afraid a bad day is coming. If it happens at the vet's, I'm imagining the ride home, one girl sobbing inconsolably and the other asking, "Now can we finally get a dog?"