My good old friend Baby, 15 yrs old, is starting to show signs of doggie dementia, or as I call it wags-heimers. The latest episode: eating styrofoam, thinking it's food. So far, Baby's been O.K. considering she's already deaf and half-blind. I watch her closely, doing everything possible to keep her comfortable and happy.
You know how dogs have that guiding purpose that's awesome. Sometimes I believe she's hanging around until I complete the YNK trilogy.
There are times when she'll lay there like a bag of bones. Then I'll open the door and she'll leap over the steps and run around the yard like a puppy -- which usually is followed by a period of immobility. The most pitiful part: when she looks up at me and says, "Finish your book, Carol, please. I'm tired."