I’m feeling pretty useless these days.

I try to remember the good ol’ days when I was a dynamo. I once jumped into a cold lake because I thought Mum needed saving while she was zipping around on water skis. I helped herd Mum’s pet ducklings and kept them from waddling too far away. I stood guard at the window and sounded the alarm at every squirrel, delivery truck, or unexpected footstep on the porch. Back then, I had a purpose. 

I overheard Mum tell Dad it was no wonder I sleep so much. She said I’d be over 100 in human years. Still, what good am I?

For my fifteenth birthday, Mum gave me steak. In my younger days, I would’ve wolfed it down in seconds. Now, my teeth are so worn, she took it back and cut it into smaller pieces. I long for the good old days when that steak wouldn’t stand a chance.

When the grandsons came over, they pulled out the volleyball balloon—the one I used to bop with my nose to launch it high in the air. They’d bop it back to me. Super fun. But this time, I didn’t leave the couch. They kept calling to me, but I was just too tired. Finally, they gave up. I know they felt sad. So did I.

I can’t even muster the energy to bark at the roaring dirt-sucker-upper anymore. That obnoxious beast was my nemesis. I’d chase it, snapping and barking down the hallway. Mum used to scold me, but now she looks at me with moist eyes.   I also used to bark when the meter reader came or when someone walked up with a delivery. I’m lucky these days if I manage a half-hearted woof when the dog next door struts past.

It’s a terrible thing, feeling useless.

These days, life moves a lot slower. The other day, Dad said to Mum, “Josie isn’t eating much. You need to prepare yourself.”

Mum said nothing. She just looked out the window and blinked fast.

I watched her going through my toy box later. She pulled out my squeaky toy, the one she used to hide. I’d search for it, and when I found it, I’d leap on it and squeak it with gusto. Mum looked at the toy for the longest time. When Mum tucked it and the toy box into the back of the closet, I turned my head, pretending I didn’t notice, but my tail flicked. I needed to keep it together.

It’s a hard truth, growing old and feeling useless.

Later that afternoon, Mum flopped onto the couch beside me. Her shoulders slumped. “I’m having a bad day, Josie,” she said. “I could use a cuddle.”

And suddenly, I was on full alert.

I curled into her side, pressing my nose into the crook of her arm. Her hand found the itchy spots behind my ears and rubbed them, slow and steady. Mum’s breathing softened. Her eyes closed.

I nestled in.

I can’t bark much anymore.

I can’t chase balloons, chew steak, or play balloon volleyball.

But I can do this.

Despite my worn teeth, aching joints, and tired body, I can still show love.