This is my eleventh Spring. New life is all around.
Humans call me a senior dog. I still have some quality years ahead, they say.
But I'm getting older fast and my humans are not keeping up with me.
I was thinking of the dying pope, and of that poor American woman Terry Schiavo,
who was turned into a political circus act by a president and his Christian extremist voters.
Why do humans make such a fuss of dying when time is up?
There'll be a new pope. And the old pope's work will finally be done.
He's been so tired for so long.
And if he's right about heaven he'll probably have a reservation up there. I wish him peace.
This is my eleventh Spring. I feel good and I'm glad.
Have a great weekend everybody!