My sister and her family have gone to Maine and left me with the dogs.
This means Kenny sleeps with me, but the boy is a freaking rock when he sleeps. Forcing him to move, if needed, can be a bit of a challenge.
But it is good to have him. He reminds me of what a young dog can mean. I need this because I find myself forgetting the value of a dog as Claren ages. I also find myself wondering if I want to go through this aging process again.
It is hard to witness Claren's various infirmities, but a real issue is that we have become quite separated. It is hard for her to be at my level anymore, and I find it hard to get on the floor with her. And even if I do connect with her, her skin allergies leave me unsure if she even likes it.
I owe Claren so much, and she doesn't seem unhappy. She greets me and rolls around in the grass, but she makes me sad these days. And, of course, that makes me guilty.
Gene Wiengarten says old dogs are the best dogs; I'm not sure.
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