(Apologies to Al Stewart)
Lately I've been feeling my age. I can't run on a treadmill anymore without my knees hurting like hell, so I walk very fast and gulp down my Osteo-BiFlex every morning. Running up and down stairs is a thing of the past. And staying up late on Saturday nights to watch SNL is out of the question, even when someone as awesome as Betty White is hosting. (Thank God for Hulu.) How on earth she caroused till 3 a.m. at the afterparty is beyond me.
So I guess it shouldn't surprise me that Allie, who in dog years is about the same age I am, is slowing up a little bit, too. Just as I take my anti-achey meds, so does she also take hers. A couple of years ago, when I took her for a run, she'd be good for at least 10 or 15 strenuous retrievals of her beloved tennies or Orbee balls. Now, she's more apt to run that hard for 4 or 5 tosses, after which she insists on resting and gumming the ball for awhile before going for a couple more high-speed fetches. Plus, she has far fewer zoomie attacks and, consequently, has become much better at walking on leash. I've longed for the latter ever since she was a puppy -- but now that she's mature enough to actually be a good walking companion, I find myself feeling a little sad.
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