Cuddle Bunny

Cuddle bunny, you are 13 years old, and dogs like you tend not to last much longer than that. If we make it to the end of January together, you'll be 14, and I'll be happy. If we make it to February of next year, you'll be 15, and I'll be even happier.

I've known you your whole life, aside from those first few weeks you spent in an outdoor crate on an Amish estate, squealing and fat, surrounded by your brothers and sister. Your parents were kept elsewhere, but I made sure to see them before I took you home with me. You got to see them too, but I doubt you remember.

You were the last of the litter. Old daddy and I had driven up to Pennsylvania for you, but we didn't know we were driving for you specifically. You'd been my last choice because you're not especially photogenic, and I suppose the three other people who got there before me felt the same way about you. Because when we walked up, you were alone already, sitting splayed-legged like you do, and looking around frantically as you tried to figure out what was happening.

My heart broke, and there was no question that you were for me, even if the only other option was to walk away. I might never have had a snuggle bunny like you, and driven back the three hours wondering about your future. Instead, I helped you make a future, and we're 13 years in.

If I hadn't taken you home, we never would have seen the Grand Canyon together. Driven to waterfalls and spent weekends at the beach. I think you've seen more than most dogs have, and though I'm not sure how you could appreciate this, it's enough that I do. It's enough that I know how boring your life might have been if someone else had taken you home and treated you like the second-class citizen, the accessory, that many think dogs are, or ought to be.

Of course, if I hadn't taken you home, I wouldn't now be waking up at 5 in the morning to take you out to pee. My own sleep schedule is these days at the mercy of your increasingly delicate bladder, and my eyes have been twitching from lack of sleep as I've failed to adjust.

But I love you, snuggle bunny. And I'll wake up at 5am for you.

You make it all worth it when you show me your excitement, doing a victory lap around the main level of the house before letting me put on your collar. I don't know if you're excited to go outside into the cold, or excited because I'm here doing exactly what you want. You've been subject to my whims and desires for so long, always doing what I want to do, that perhaps its fair now for me to be your lackey for what's left of our time together.

In the new year, I'll keep waking up for you. Trudging down the stairs and into my slippers, yawning as I see you round the corner and look up at me. I'll smile because you're alive and wonderful as ever. And even if you're not, even if your wonderous qualities start to fade, I'll still smile because I know you so well, and I know that you love me too.

I will buy blackout curtains so that I can go back to sleep when we come upstairs. Total blackout curtains. I will keep working from home so that I can spend time with you. I will crawl back into bed, and throw the comforter over my legs, then see you looking up at me and remember that you can't jump on the bed anymore, not with your legs as they are now.

I will reach down and pluck you from the floor, and hold you close like I did when you were a puppy. You don't squirm and writhe now. You finally enjoy our shared warmth in your twilight years. Or perhaps you're resigned to my love, as you've had to be for everything eventually. Likewise, I'm resigned to what you need from me.

We'll go back to sleep, snuggle bunny. And this can be our routine for as long as you need.