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She has been our constant companion for a long
time. that small, gangly, black-hairy mop of a dog.
With a mind of her own and energy to spare, she
has sturdily climbed mountains to stand four-square
upon their pinnacles, never questioning the wherefores,
simply accompanying us where enthusiasm and
curiosity and inbred love of nature has led us.

Small as she is, she never lagged, invested with
her own powerful curiosity and indomitable will.
Where we forged on, so did she. Where we stopped
to rest, she did too. What we ate and drank, she did
as well. Our triumph in accomplishment in reaching
our goal of the moment was beyond doubt hers as well.

We are become elderly, she and we, now. Where we
remain hale, she a frailness of condition has befallen.
In her eighteenth year, still physically capable, still
invested with the joy of life, agile and attentive, her
eyes and ears have faltered, their acuity compromised.
Her sharp, knowing mind has been assaulted with
uncertainties. She becomes confused, forgetful. She
stands, immobile, head cocked, attention to some
haunting thought or memory known only to herself.

On old familiar trails she once knew so well she looks
for guidance. Abrupt changes in direction, a sharp
sound, the appearance of strangers, confuse her and
close scrutiny can send her into panic and hyperventilation.
Our small companion, still invested with vigour, still
capable of playful manoeuvres, increasingly elder-addled.