The warm water ran across her little furry back, plastering the hair against her skin and exposing the truth of her aging frame. Where once she had weighed in at a respectable 4.5 pounds, the evidence of her current 2.5 pounds was obvious. Her little backbone stuck out, each vertebrae visible. Little Lucy, how many years have we loved you, how many years are left? I think that to count the years would be foolish, more likely only months.
She was so beautiful in her puppy years, bright eyes looking at us with love and excitement. Now she looks at us but does not see our faces, or our hands as they approach to stroke her soft fur. Our touch is always a surprise to her, so we talk and let her know that we are coming, that she might be spared the fright of the unexpected. Her little feet seem to hardly touch the ground so lightly does she tread but her balance often fails and she drifts to this side or that, catching herself before she falls.
She lies at my side as I write, rolled in a soft towel to stop her shivering. The bath was much needed, but even using the hairdryer does not dry her enough to prevent her shaking uncontrollably afterwards.
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