Spike will be 10 in November. I thought of him as middle-aged, but earlier this year the vet called him a senior citizen.
That was a blow--reminding me that his life span is so much shorter than Jeff's and mine.
I've seen the signs that he is growing older--his caramel colored patches are whiter, he doesn't run as often as he used to, he's slowed down in general.
It really hit home last Saturday. We decided to walk to the Sono Arts Festival--about one-and-a-quarter mile Spike seemed fine during the walk, but it wore him out. We hunkered down at Burger Bar for lunch and rest. Spike was revived by the smell and taste of burgers.
We took it easy the rest of the afternoon. We walked about a block, rested, walked a little longer, then rested some more. We took a cab home. Spike vegged the rest of the afternoon and evening.
I don't want to be melodramatic about this. We worked Spike a little too hard but he recovered by the next day. But last Saturday was a reminder of how little time we really have together.
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