Leaps and Bounds
When my dog walks these days, he shuffles stiffly because of the arthritis that forces him to take medication twice a day. He can’t hear out of his right ear, and his left isn’t much better after a series of ear infections and hematomas a couple of years ago. And while tales of Maverick’s jumping abilities are legendary in my family—my little twenty-pound schnoodle once snagged a piece of Easter ham off the middle of a four-foot-high counter—lately he can’t even jump on the couch. He’s started to fall down spread-eagle on our hardwood floors, unable to get up.
He’s about seventy-six in dog years—fifteen in human terms. Our time together is drawing to a close. Yet I still see a sassy spark in his eyes the 12 percent of the day he isn’t sleeping. He still bounds around our house
