Our older dog is almost 15.
He doesn’t have much time left.
He’s been here through it all—moves, birthdays, long nights, sick days, toddler years, late-night feeds.
When he goes, I know the kids will want another.
But I don’t think I will.
I’ve already told myself—I’ll stand firm on this one.
Because in a few years, they’ll be out of the house. Eight years, maybe. That’s the math.
And I don’t want another chapter of muddy paws and morning walks.
Not when the house is quiet. Not when it’s just us again.
But then I think… should I give in?
Should I soften a little?
I don’t know yet.
For now, I’m just trying to stay present with the dog who’s still here.
He was here for all of it.
I want to be here for the rest of him.
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