Old Bags in Denial
Do I need a facelife or are we becoming a nation of old bags in denial?
Mad at the Dying Old Dogs: Yellow Newspapers
My old dogs are breaking my heart today, but instead of the usual tears, I feel annoyed and angry. They will leave me too soon, as four of our pack passed away in my arms this past year. Several others remain - a few are younger but most are dear old family members bearing the creaky hips of mid-life, torn ligaments and weakening bladders. Everyone died because they got old, that is the best and worst of it. They would have stayed longer and sometimes tried to struggle against the end, as if to continue pleasing me. Only one, Honeybear, was euthanized because cancer (and chemo) had already taken her, a once vigorous pitbull/boxer - she was in terrible pain and I would want to go into that good night myself in a similar state. Honeybear came into my life from the streets and too many years in a no-kill shelter. Only a few months before, Fuzzy, my pekingese discard, died at age 13. He'd been given up to a shelter years earlier by a family that traded him in for a huma baby. I'd...
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