I Have To Face Facts

My dog is getting old.

Here's my dog (hanging out with the cat) -- She's the best, sweetest, kindest, gentlest dog in the whole world. And I'm not joking. Really. Ask anyone.



Today, she played outside in the snow... it looked something like this (although these are pix from last week):



She typically joins me in the basement when I'm on the computer and this morning was no exception. She plopped down on the couch (the same one she's sharing with the cat, above) and snoozed. I went back upstairs and started a game of Disney Trivial Pursuit with DD. About an hour later, I heard Bailey bark. One sharp bark. That is always her way of getting my attention for something, and is quite unusual. So I got up and trotted downstairs and found her half off the couch -- front legs on the floor, hind legs still on the couch.

She couldn't move.

She has arthritis in her hips, and apparently her playtime outside really hurt her. I lifted her down from the couch and she almost fell. Then she refused to take even one step upstairs because she couldn't balance properly on bad hind legs.

I carried her. She's 90 pounds. This was no mean feat.

Upstairs, she curled up on the floor. She probably would have just stayed down in the basement except she doesn't like to be alone.

*sigh*

She's nine years old, and that's something like 63 in dog years. I guess I should be grateful for every moment I have left with her, because she is truly a special pooch. There will never be another like her, and it's so hard to watch her grow old.