When he walked, it was like a wobbly carriage strolling down a cobble road with square wheels.  And when he ran... well, he didn’t run.  His body was heavy yet frail, like he was made from metal with some serious rust.  A big ol’ dog he was.  His eyes were covered in a glossy mucus and they sagged, leaving some of the eye socket exposed.  His head was heavy and almost flipped him over from time to time.  I watched him from the kitchen table as he licked his own balls.  I guess that's what dogs do.  They say old dogs can't learn new tricks.  But the truth is old dogs don’t have the energy to learn anything new, not to mention doing old tricks.  He was over a hundred and ten years old in dog years.  Which is a lot for a big dog like him.  His heart was small compared to his body.  His brain was even smaller.  Every once in a while, he would just stand in your way, looking at the floor.  Drooling.  But hey, he was an old dog.

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