Soon our dog will die.
Her name is Dixie. She is an Australian shepherd, with those freezing blue eyes that make it seem that she is capable of deep thoughts and deeper emotions, even though she sometimes drinks from the toilet.
Dixie came to us more than a decade ago, fully grown, so our best estimate is that she is now 13 or 14. In human years, that means she’s an old, old lady.
Indeed, there is something of the lady in Dixie, who daintily crosses her front legs when she lies down beside the dining room table during dinner, politely waiting for a child to drop something savory.
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