Their joys are simple. A soft bed. A scrap fallen from the table that the
younger dogs missed. The memory of a treed squirrel. A storm-less night.

White whiskered faces and legs crooked as question marks.

Old Dogs, their sweet Buddha bellies hang over crossed legs as they fall
asleep in a coveted patch of sun. Dreaming of out-racing their shadows down
long, shady lanes.

Once they danced by your side. The very definition of joy unleashed. A
perfect poem caught in shining eyes and wiggling tails. They have followed you
faithfully for years and would plunge into fires, untamed wildernesses,
raging waters if you asked. Now, they struggle to catch up. Their pace slow
but their hearts still valiant.

Their cloudy eyes are starting to dim and go distant, tuning in to some
invisible world. Just beyond your reach.

“Don’t go” you say, as you scratch the tender part between their ears. “
Stay longer. I can’t imagine a world without your fur pressed close to my
cheek. There are still so many roads we haven’t explored.” And they look up
at you with a wisdom that just slays you.

Their backs are bent, not from the weight of years, but from the invisible
wings they are growing that will soon take them to a place where once
more they are warriors of speed. Drunk with the sights and scents of a
thousand meadows. Able to leap high enough to touch the wing of the tiniest
butterfly.

A place where they will now wait for you to catch up.