Boz, 13 or so

Today marks the 8th anniversary of the day John and I brought Boz home from the shelter. We think of it as his birthday. Which birthday, we're not sure. A good guess would be 12 or 13.

Like any old guy, Boz enjoys simple pleasures. He likes to warm himself on the scratchy grass in the back yard. His morning routine includes a nap in his sunny spot in the living room. In the afternoons he enjoys lounging on the front porch and keeping watch over the neighborhood. Of an evening, he derives great joy from sitting in the living room with his humans, chewing his bone and passing gas. In many ways, he's just like the rest of us.

He and John play dog/man games like "kill the squeaky" and "stalk the alpha." But nothing tops Boz's pleasure meter like running. He loves, loves, loves to run.

I have a million pictures of Boz running. I wonder what goes through his mind when he's running. Maybe nothing. After all, he's a person, but he's not a human being. He lives with our constraints because we feed him and we're his pack. But when he runs he's a dog, pure and simple. And I do mean "simple." As I write, he's blissfully licking his towel and he's been at it for about twenty minutes.

They say the larger the dog, the shorter the life span. At 70 pounds Boz is on the large side of medium, or the small side of large. Then again, all that exercise makes him healthy for his age.

They also say when you adopt a pet, it becomes a family member. We felt that truth as we adjusted to Boz, and he to us, eight years ago. Before he moved in we were a happy couple. Boz made us a happy family.