A little snow, a little Patches, helped us feel a little more lively this weekend. I felt sad on Saturday, the one-week anniversary of Boscoe's death--silly as it sounds, I felt briefly as though I'd lost my way, lost my purpose: caring for that aging dog.
But Patches showed up on Saturday morning, all swagger and squirm, leaping onto Riley right from the doorway, not even letting us get her leash off her. Doug and Mona and I drank too much coffee in the kitchen, watching them from the window and occasionally going out onto the back porch to cheer them on.
I think they had a good time, though when they came in the kitchen to warm up (it was zero degrees Saturday morning), Patches kept going in Riley's spot--under the kitchen table--which made him growl.
But at least it took our minds off of sadness. Later in the day Riley got a good 90-minute walk, and another one this morning, and right now he's lying on the hall rug, exhausted, and if he could talk (if he were awake), he'd say, "When are you guys going back to work?"
A tired dog is a good and happy dog. But a tired dog is ... oh dear. Is he really ten already? Oh my.
Today, Jan. 22, is Riley's 10th anniversary with us. We are so happy to have him. And despite his serious face and his standoffish ways, I think he's happy to have us, too.