02/10/2026
Beautiful words ❤️❤️❤️
No one tells you what hard work it is, looking after an old dog. My sweet old boy’s accidents are becoming more frequent, including a particularly dramatic incident at 1am this morning that I am hoping is nothing more than an upset tummy, but even at the best of times he is often a little…leaky, shall we say. I spend a lot of time washing bedding and mopping floors- luckily we have mostly hard floors, which have turned out to be as useful for old dogs as they are for puppies.
Some people might think the solution would be to confine him to one room, and stop him sleeping on my bed. Those people are entirely entitled to that opinion, but that won’t be happening. He has slept on my bed for thirteen years. He has had the run of the house for thirteen years. And now, when he most needs my love, and comfort and affection, I am not going to shut him in another room away from me, or leave him alone, confused and lonely at night, just for my own convenience.
Because hard work as it may be, to look after an old dog, it is a privilege to have these twilight years with them, and to finally be able to give them something in return for all the love they have given us over the years. For all the days I didn’t want to get out of bed, or leave the house, but he made me. For all the years of the silent presence, there at my side, whenever I needed him. The nudge of a wet nose, or a sympathetic paw on my knee. The ridiculous antics that made me laugh when I thought I’d never stop crying. The furious barking at cats and pigeons and other threats to the household safety. The way he sat with my children when their grandparents died, just sitting, letting them cuddle him, and draw comfort from him being beside them. And most of all, knowing that as long as he was with me, I was never ever alone.
The old dog has looked after me for thirteen years, ever since he first bounced through the door as a rambunctious two year old rescue, and now it is my time to look after him. It might be hard work, but it is not a fraction of what he deserves, and I grudge him none of it, because I know that every accident I mop up, every chicken breast I poach for him, every time I carry him up the stairs, or lift him onto a chair or sofa, is a sign that we are one step closer to having to say goodbye. And until that day comes, I will be there for him, for everything he needs, just like he has always been there for me.
