Eight.

As I type this, it's already 2 days past what would have been Daed's eighth birthday.  This is the time where I should be worrying about his hips a little more and keeping a closer eye on his diet, all the while sneaking in an extra cookie or two when his sister isn't paying attention. This is when I should be instigating Zuki to go jump on him to keep the big lug as active as possible.

Instead, I sit here looking at pictures and relishing sense memory of the way his muzzle felt, like felt coincidentally, when I pet him to sleep and the way he'd lean in to my chest when I'd hug him and we'd mutually assess each other's welfare.  Instead I keep an eye on his sister who is doing her damndest to step up and fill in his shoes paws as the pack protector despite my objections.  She needs to be a puppy.

Any which way it happens, Daed, I miss you.  Zuki misses you.  Everyone misses you. With any luck there is something beyond where you're chasing birds, sleeping upside down in the sunlight, eating cookies and getting loved. 

I hope you had a happy birthday, sweet boy. 

Daed's views on getting older:














This would have been posted earlier, but anything other than blindly keeping busy on Daed's birthday would have had undesirable results.