Life Lessons from My Senior Dog

Facebook memories take me back to the “good ol’ days”: from antics with friends and coworkers in downtown Denver to long nights spent reading articles and grading papers.

Sometimes, it’ll remind me of a picture I immediately swoon over: my two red pups back when they were just starting to shimmer with white fur around the edges. I love these photos and videos; they’re old enough to not look as crisp and clear as the pictures I take on my phone now in 2026. But they capture a slice of life that I miss so much: my partner and I in our 20s, vibing and doing life with our two retriever mixes, Pogo and Peekaboo.

We went on so many walks at our apartment complex, steps away from the Platte River with gorgeous views of the foothills and unbeatable sunsets. We’d catch a glimpse of wildlife from time to time: garter snakes, frogs, crows, rabbits, etc. One time, Robbie took Pogo on a walk and they spotted a turkey. Pogo could hardly contain himself and he chased the turkey as far as his little puppy legs would take him.

I look back so happily on these little moments, but now with a tinge of sadness. Those days are long gone, and I’d give anything to get them back.

I took for granted the long carefree summer walks or the road trips up to the mountains or the walks around our favorite parks. When they were happening, it felt like they’d last forever. Now, I see the pictures come up on my phone and wonder where the time went.

Pogo could play fetch for hours on end. We even got him a bandana that had the words “Throw the fucking ball” because it encapsulated basically his entire personality. Now he’s 12 years old, and our fetch sessions are short and sweet. He gets hot quickly in the summer sun, and he’s not always willing to bring the ball all the way back (though he’s always been stubborn that way). Sometimes, he cuts it short so he can get back in his comfy bed with the ball in his mouth as he drifts off for another nap.

And Peekaboo always looked so sleek and graceful when she ran, her back arching and sailing through the wind as it stroked her fur. She could run so far, and she never cared about retrieving. She only cared about running alongside her brother, and maybe distracting him long enough so she could take the ball and taunt him with it. Now, when she’s on her pain meds and feeling peppy, she’ll trot for a few seconds when she notices that Pogo and Poppy have locked in to a squirrel or a rabbit, out of fear of missing out and an urge to be part of the action. But the moment is fleeting, and it always leaves me wondering how many “good days” we have left.

It’s hard to look in their hazy eyes and gray muzzles, seeing every version of them. Pogo as a 6-month-old puppy with separation anxiety and an affinity for pinecones; a 3-year-old who definitely didn’t want a sister and would have preferred to be an only dog; a 6-year-old newly diagnosed with a congenital liver disease; and a 9-year-old who just had TPLO surgery and needed his mom to carry him down to the basement so we could take shelter from a tornado. Peekaboo, as a 2-year-old dog who was still hiding deep in her shell and didn’t make eye contact; a 4-year-old who gently picked up a tiny baby bunny in her mouth but never hurt it; a 6-year-old who was probably confused as to why her parents were suddenly home all the time and always covering half of their faces; and a 9-year-old who definitely wasn’t excited in any way for her own baby sister (but has warmed up to her now).

I know they’re comfortable and generally happy in their old age, but I wish they could still do everything they loved. I regret the times I sat on my phone instead of spending my lunch break outside with them in the backyard. I regret every hour I spent working late instead of going on an evening walk in the cool early-summer breeze. I regret not socializing them or training them or keeping them in tip-top shape enough of the time so they could do everything they love as much and as long as possible.

Do they know they can’t do the same things anymore? Do they wonder why?

Or do they just live in the moment, not knowing or caring that the moment will eventually pass?

I suspect that it’s just me who thinks these things, not them. At least, I very much hope so.