My Dog

These are the paws of our dog, Akira. She's 11 and awesome. Made from the best stuff on earth. Well, except her breath--that's pretty rank. As far as dogs go, you can't ask for anything better. I remember one time I was crying on the couch (sad movie? emotional breakdown?) and she just sat by me, ears back, waiting for things to get better. With her by my side, I knew they would.

But, she's getting old. And with that we're getting poop. Lots of poop, everywhere. She poops on the carpet in the living room or in the car when I'm driving her to the vet or in the lobby while we wait for the elevator. It sucks and it's smelly.

I remember one time I got really mad because I had had enough. I wanted to yell and bitch and relegate her to the balconey but I didn't. I stopped before I even opened my mouth when I saw her sitting there, staring up at me, ears back because she knew that what she did was wrong. She breaks my heart sometimes.

I'm writing about this because I'm thinking about age now. My sister asked me to write a press release on this lady who is going to celebrate her 103rd birthday. Can you imagine that? 103 years on this planet. She's lived through everything. And yet, according to my sister, she's zipping around the assisted living facility in her scooter, having a grand 'ol time.

So I look at my pup as I pick up her smelly poop and am happy that she's with us at all. I can't get mad that she poops in the house. I bet that she's probably embarrassed everytime it happens (my dog is very human-like). I can only celebrate every day that she's with us, warming our faces with her smelly breath, keeping us company with her silent presence. If only they had a scooter for dogs. I'd get her on that thing in a second.