[image error]photo by Jessica M.

Athena, you are fifteen today. It was a long, grueling summer and I often wondered if we’d reached the end of our time together. But you are made of stern stuff and here we are, still alive in November. A lot of people sent you well-wishes during your illness, and I am certain it helped.

You are tired and walk slowly, these days. Your hearing is gone, and your eyes and teeth are going. Yet, you are a happy soul. You suffer your rowdy younger pack mate, and limp with me to the end of our driveway to check the mail. Whatever is happening is always important and you want to be a part of it even if it means heaving your aching bones off the sofa and staggering down the hall to see. Unlike most of us, you possess the canine gift of living in the moment and living for the small things.

It is a difficult experience to watch you transform over the years from a bundle of fluff who fit in the palm of my hand, to a grand old dame with one paw on the threshold of the next world. It is difficult and painful because I’ve grown accustomed to you lying underfoot as I work on my latest story. I never want that to change, as it one day will.

I love you, Athena. You are a good dog.