He is an old dog, my vet said.
He’s only eleven! I cried.
He is in his 70s, she countered.
But. But but but.
I had so many objections.
He is my hale and hearty dog
my stalwart companion
the one with the jaunty step
the fearless explorer of woods & creek
my role model for flat-out joy
my Tigger
my heart.
How could he, like me,
have a decrepit neck?
I take Social Security. Medicare.
But he! He is only eleven.
Just yesterday he killed a snake!
We have yet to go camping.
He hasn’t seen the ocean.
I still have his baby tooth.
He is only eleven.
