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My Dog Salvy

 As my dog gets older, I notice a difference between my spouse and me. My spouse is ready--even eager--to get sentimental. If you are five months late with a work assignment, you can say, "Sorry, my dog died," and my spouse will accept the excuse without question.


Also, Marc likes to talk about Salvy's hips. "You know what they say about an aging lab and his hips." I *do* know what they say--but I don't see the value in worrying. My dog still happily makes it around the block. That's good enough for me.

At my dog's petcare retreat, various "death announcements" are on display. Owners write in the voices of their dead dogs. "I was pleased to spend time on Earth with my Maplewood neighbors. I'm Peanut, and I'm signing off!" ....Like me, my own daughter is a bit more steely and clinical. She is speaking--quite often--about her desire for a cat. And I can't help but wonder if she has one eye on the ticking clock....

I myself dream of owning a bunny named Fluffers. I just think it would be fun to shout, "Fluffers! Time for dinner!" .....But I understand that bunny-care can be tedious.

In any case, it's summer, when my dog's anal glands begin to release a particularly fragrant odor. He's still got it. He is going strong.
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