Gracie is nearly 14. She is deaf and sees only shadows, but the scent of my hand is enough for her. She is a lap dog who takes her work seriously. She wags her curly tail and waits. I scoop her up, tuck her under my arm, and move on.
“We’re running a nursing home,” I tell my husband later. He is reading the paper, surrounded by Gracie and our two elderly cats, Reggie and Winnie. Sherrod laughs but only a little. We are both feeling the weight of their advancing years.
For years, our pets have made us feel loved and adored. Now, as they age, it’s our turn.