She’s old. She walks like she’s old. She’s a little musty. Her breath will give you pause.
Her eyes are cloudy. Her colors have faded quite a bit.
In fact, she’s pretty much white all over. Her claws are gnarly.
She’s arthritic. She has allergies. Her stomach has never been great.
Tater is the best dog. Ever.
We left her with my brother-in-law for five years while we had an overseas adventure life for a bit.
And then we got her back. Thank you Clay and Mattea.
Maybe we missed her best years, but…
Tater still fetches. Pretty much any stick you or she can find. Plus she likes tennis balls. A lot.
She faithfully takes turns each night sleeping with one of our four daughters (perhaps begrudgingly at times).
And when we are sad, and I mean really sad or just a little sad, she knows. When we are sick, she knows.
She stays right beside whoever it is that is ailing emotionally or physically no matter what. I guess that’s her job.
So we pet her and give her carrots (the only treat she’ll eat…I know…weird) and overlook her breath and her sour stomach.
And hope for a few more years with our compassionate, faithful pet.
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