Just over two months ago I celebrated my eighth birthday. In dog years, that makes me 56. In bulldog years, probably more like 80. 

I could be sad. One of my eyes is fogged over, I have age spots on my tummy, my fur is getting patchy, and I prefer to walk as little as possible. 

BUT. And this is huge. I still LOVE having my ears scratched, getting treats, eating, getting treats, and eating. Especially that. 

And my people like having me around. It’s a lot of work, but I make sure to park myself exactly half way between whoever is home.

And I’m very helpful when the baby cries. I bark like crazy. I know he’s thankful because he drops his food right where I can get it. 

So, I’m enjoying every day I have. Age is just a number. Right?