Yesterday I took my 14-year-old “puppy,” Poco, to the vet. She’d suddenly lost a lot of weight so I wanted to have her blood sugar checked. Sure enough, she’s diabetic, so I’ll be giving her twice-a-day insulin injections for a while. Though maybe not for that long since the vet tactfully mentioned that the one-year bottle of insulin I bought could outlast her, old as she is. As difficult as that would be (I don’t remember life without her!) it might be almost time. In the last year she’s gone completely deaf and partially blind, not to mention seriously arthritic. But the vet also said that her heart and lungs sound great - especially for a dog that’s really in her late-70s.

She’s still my puppy though. Just look at her:

In the vet’s waiting room, three different people pointed at her in my arms and said to their kids, “Look at the new puppy!” I always get a kick out of telling people how old she really is.

I’m hopeful she’ll be okay for a while. Most days are pretty good. It just takes her a few minutes to get out of bed in the morning or to find a comfortable sitting position.

Those bad days are awful though, and they’re happening more frequently. Bad days are when she wakes up disoriented, not able to find her way around the house, bumping into things left and right. One day last week she got lost in the backyard when I let her out to pee and she couldn’t find her way back in. I kept looking out the window, hoping she’d smell her way in, but all she did was wander around in circles, nose to the ground, apparently never finding a familiar scent. I finally had to carry her inside.

I can’t handle putting her to sleep if she continues to deteriorate. If I’m lucky, she’ll go to sleep one night when she’s ready and that will be it.