Some good days, some not so good.
In the midst of one of the good, Gilgamesh was up to the glen with a nice batch of dogs, including an old lab and a new lab, both sweet:
And there was much laughter.
Tonight, after one of the not-so-good days of low energy, proprioceptive difficulties, and general vagueness, he perked up with dusk cool rolling in, and asked for some fun.
So: an evening stroll in the glen, steam rolling off the pond and the last remaining light hoarded by the mountain.
Blueberry strudel, shared.
Minute by minute, we’re seeing what’s the next right thing.
Purely gratuitous & random overlord cuteness.
It’s hard to believe just two years ago Gilly & I hiked five miles, swam, then walked two more miles to go to the fireworks, and he was still raring to go: today we swam for an hour, carefully and with rests, then he napped, then we parked as close as possible, and really only walked around the field a few times. But we went, and he loved it, and he got to have tastes of fried dough, and the accolades of many small children (especially after he had on three glow-necklaces: LOOK! The doggy’s GLOWING!), and he did decide slide-rolling down a hill would be fun:
I’m glad we went. He is too. Who knows how many more we’ll have, but we had this one.
The finale looked like Hubble space photographs.
Gilly and I have a lot of sweet moments related to his aging, but there’s no joke or art to make from some of the others.
As today when he fell twice on our walk, misjudging both his capacities and the footing in this terrible, nonsensical new reality of unreliable bone and vision and sinew and nerve, so misaligned with his sense of self, which remains invincible.
As we find our footing in this increasingly treacherous landscape of his twelfth year, this:
And me saying, for another day:
Hey, Gilly. Don’t leave, okay?