Old Dogs

Old dogs know what they are supposed to do. They know that at 8:30 in the morning, and their internal clock is seldom wrong, it's time to go for a walk. And just for a little while, in the anticipation, they look young again, they try to do their happy dance, even though the hind legs are kind of weak or sometimes tangle. Old dogs know that the intersection of halls leading to the front door is their spot. It's important duty, after all, to keep track of the household as they step over you. That hall to the front door is where intruders or a cat could come through. It's a tough job but somebody has to do it.
 
Old dogs know what sunbeams are for. Lie in the sun and soak up that wonderful warmth on your old bones. Old dogs don't get stressed about anything except when snacks are running late. If you want an old dog to visibly smile just say "Shall we go", or "Do you want" or "Wiener". But old dogs take on the characteristics of their hereditary adversary the cat in old age by curling up close to the wood stove for the winter.
 
Some habits die hard with old dogs, though. For instance, biting at wasps seems to be a favorite, with a resultant lopsided face every now and then. And porcupines. Perhaps because they are slow enough to catch or because there are old injustices that just can't be forgiven. But old dogs recognize people and dogs from their puppy days; are forgiving of puppies and children; begin to smile a human smile (all teeth); and generally, don't bother to look ashamed when they goof up. I meant to do that.