You know, Stanley, I sometimes watch you as you age and my heart breaks. You huff and puff in the hot summer days, you walk slowly, you groan and pee like an old dog, and you have trouble catching up.
You were once such an energetic, sneaky dog. Remember those first couple of years? You’d watch me when we were in the woods and if I turned away for a moment off you’d run to terrorize the doctor’s cats half a mile away. I never knew anybody so sneaky in my entire life.
I was a wonder.
And now I think you’re losing it.
Your sharpness, your clarity, your mind.
I don’t think I ever had them.
Sure you did, Stan. How else did you manage to sneak away in the woods like you used to? How did you manage to get out of the fenced-in yard and run up to the road? How did you manage to unzip my pocketbook and dig out that Swiss chocolate bar?
I didn’t need any mind for doing those things, I just did them.
Just just did them? You mean, like a Zen master?
Look how hot it is now. So where am I? Standing in the water, where it’s cool. Where are you?
On the bank, where it’s hot.
Don’t you want to cool down?
Yeah, but I don’t want to get wet.
You’re full of considerations and wishy-washy thinking.
Woody Allen said mortality is an iffy thing, Stanley. Knowing that one day you won’t be here changes everything.
Like what? I love standing in the water when it’s hot, I love going to Leeann and the other dogs, I love to eat. So what’s new?
Don’t things get more precious for you as you age?
Doesn’t it bother you that you can’t hear and barely see?
What about knowing we will part soon?
What about it?
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