Woody turned nine back in December and still has the energy of a two-year-old. I never feel like he's slowing down. But lately, I've been getting subtle reminders that nine is actually a very impressive and desirable age to make it to in the dog world. A few large dog breeds are lucky to make it to nine and many dogs are living the equivalent of the laid-back life retired snow bird men enjoy.
The last few weeks on our walks, I've encountered multiple people who ask how old he is, and when I respond that he's nine I get the same response: "He looks good for nine!" I know no one is trying to upset me by reminding me how old he is, but I can't help but feel a little sad each time. Now, I find myself paying closer attention to any new quirks, noises, and changes in appetite and endurance levels to make sure I don't miss any of those getting-older signs. So far so good.
More importantly, I look at Woody differently with a greater sense of appreciation for all he's taught me in our five years together and I have a new outlook on our time together - it must be cherished. I need to do what I can to keep him healthy and enjoy many more years of selfies.
I'm just a twenty-something female raising the weirdest dog I've ever met.