Getting Jersey to the vet has never been easy. She knows. As a result, she trembles all the way…the entire 25 minute drive. Once we arrive, she refuses to stay on the scale long enough to get her weight. Everyone pitches in to coerce her…the receptionist, one of the lab techs. Finally, we all make a best guess based on the numbers flashing on the display as Jersey jumps on and off the scale. Sometimes she pees on the scale for good measure.

Once in the examining room, we are velcro. She is the hook. I am the loop. She sticks so close that when I remove one hand from her little body for the nurse to begin the exam, she fastens herself to my free hand. Once the nurse gets hold of her, I murmur encouragement; but Jersey looks at me as if I’ve betrayed her.

This trip to the vet, I’m worried. Jersey hasn’t been sleeping…which means neither have my husband nor I.

After a complete exam, the vet confirms my suspicions. Jersey is in the early stages of Canine Cognitive Decline. At night, she no longer feels up to her assumed role as pack leader and protector, so she wants to wake my husband or I so we can step into that role. She doesn’t realize that her two old pack members need some shut eye.

Dr. Godman, the saintliest of vets, recommends a tweak to the medicine Jersey takes, assures me that physically she’s aging well, and sends me home with a brochure for a probiotic that is pricey but could provide some relief for Jersey at night and, consequently, for my husband and myself.

I leave feeling sad because the longevity of dogs is much too short. My sweet protector, cuddler, walking buddy is suffering now from diminished hearing (she no longer hears the doorbell and misses out on her favorite barking frenzy), poor eyesight (she seldom sees the neighbors out walking their dogs until they are already past us…another barking opportunity missed), weakened hips (she struggles to get up to her favorite napping spot on the couch), and lipomas (a ping-pong sized one on her neck has displaced her collar). To make matters worse, she can’t communicate with me when her ailments cause pain.

I know, as her human, I’m going to be making some hard decisions in the future; but for now, she still enjoys her evening walks, loves to find the treats we hide in her canine interactive mat, eats well, and greets us daily by wagging her little stump of a tail. We still have some time with her.