How many mornings did she lunge up the stairs, hurl herself onto our bed, dance and bark and groan and nudge us awake, her nose cold, her eyes bright, until we finally got up and fed her. And how many times did we watch her leap off the bed and fly back down the steps, one continuous wave of energy and movement, her legs more like wings. She sleeps on the stairwell now and only looks up at the rooms above. In the morning, when she hears us stirring, we hear her tail thumping, her enthusiasm as great as ever. We give her Rimadyl and aspirin and glycosamine and lots of love.
Some days are better than others.
Some days she bounds down the back steps out into the back yard, her legs hardly any problem. Some days when the doorbell rings, she leaps to her feet. Some days she sleeps on the family room couch and I don't scold her the way I used to. But most days she has to struggle to get up. Most days her front legs do all the work.