It's a beautiful morning again today, with the scent of orange blossoms wafting in the slightly cool breeze. Yuki is out in front of the house where we are staying; he sniffs the air and stares in one direction for a long time. He stands open-eyed with that quizzical, curious expression on his face that we call "adorable", yet I think his stance and look really spell confusion; he cannot hear anymore nor can he see with clarity. I am guessing that his eyes only sense shapes and shadows.
Yuki cannot hear the birdsong that I call beautiful and he turns around in circles when we walk, unsure of which direction to go, even when I think he will be able to follow my loud guiding claps. He cannot. In the standard dog-to-human calculation of age that we do, Yuki is 119 years old (17 in dog years) - an old man! Yuki has been my dog since I first met one of his puppy siblings at the tender and fluffy age of five weeks, and knew I must have one. Yuki resembled a snowball - hence, the fitting name of "snow" in Japanese: Yuki. We have been with each other all this time.
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