Old Dog was truly an old dog when he came to me. A bit creaky at the joints, hard to get up from sitting sometimes, but even when he couldn't rise, he followed me with his eyes where ever I went. If I sat down, he made sure he was right at my feet. He dearly loved to go outside and it was so much fun to watch him smell every little spot in the yard with such enthusiasm, as if he had never smelled it before. He limped, and I loved to see him at dusk, when he and my other dogs went out to play one last time...his body just a shadow, but so distinctive a shadow with that tilt to one side. I grew to love this old guy so much. We knew, right away,when we first saw his age and condition, that probably nobody would ever adopt him. He really belonged to that group of unwanted dogs. But not for me. His joy at the dawning of each new day was a constant wonderment to us. He did his stiff legged dance whenever it was time to eat, eagerly awaiting his kibble as if it were filet mignon. I will never know what his life was like before he came into mine. I pray that it was happy, because he was truly a joyful dog. I held him as he died in my arms and felt his heavy head fall into my lap. A bit of light went out of the world. Wherever you are Old Dog, I love you.