None of us is getting any younger. I am seventy-three, and my spouse of thirty years is sixty-one. My mother-in-law who lives with us is eighty-one. Our dogs Stella (pug) and Luna (mix), whom we adore, both turn ten this year.
We had a friend Patty who fell three years ago Christmas. She hit her head and died. Her much older, cantankerous, whiskey guzzling, cigar smoking, big bellied husband, whom she cared for, is still alive today. None of us knows how much time we have.
There is a fine line between living in the moment and being prepared for the inevitable. Lisa and I have Wills and Powers of Attorney. But we also go to the gym most days and eat a lot of salads.
This past weekend, Stella quit eating. Now if you know anything about pugs, you know that they live to eat. About an hour before her daily meal time, she vehemently reminds us that she is starving and her demise is eminent. Seeing her turn and walk away from dinner had our anxiety up and Lisa frantically searching the internet for a possible explanation.
When I was a kid, we had a dachshund name Fritz. Every summer he went camping with us. I’m not sure why Mom didn’t bring his usual wet food but he’d get dry food on the road. Inevitably he’d turn up his nose and refuse to eat. My mother’s attitude was quite different from ours. “When he’s hungry enough, he’ll eat”. She’d pick up the untouched food and present him with it the next mealtime. Of course she was right and eventually he ate.
We’ll never know how long Stella would have held out. The conversation quickly turned to taking her to the vet. She had never skipped a meal in her life. With suggestions from the online world, we removed her slow-eating bowel and simplified her food. And of course she’s back enthusiastically snarfing down her dinner.
That princess has us wrapped around her paw. When she eventually crosses the rainbow bridge we will take it very hard. But for now she is doing quite well and so are we.
DOS TORTAS
the adventures of dos tortas 
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