Samuel Adams Fletcher is not quite twelve years old, and he’s feeling each of those years.
Still a puppy at heart, he just doesn’t move as easily as he used to. It’s thanks to pain meds and Rimadyl that he can move at all. These days it’s harder and harder to get up off the laminate floor, so we encourage him to sleep in his bed or at least on the carpet.
Somehow the annoyances of puppy chewed rugs, gobs of dog hair in every corner of the house (even though we just swept fifteen minutes ago), and pile after pile of things to be shoveled in the back yard (and occasionally in the driveway), just don’t seem as important when your puppy is in pain.
Last night was a restless night until my wife pulled back out the pain meds. He’s become Mommy’s dog after all. He missed her all week and when she returned on Wednesday night you could see the joy in his eyes.
He seems better this morning. He’s quiet at least and the tail isn’t drooping quite so much.
We know that it won’t be much longer. So we make him comfortable and try to make him happy.
“Frosty Paws” just don’t seem as expensive as they used to be.