Slogging through middle age

I've had a couple inquiries lately about Max. He's a fine dog
indoors or on a leash. He needs direction; he's not an
independent thinker. He should be an only dog.

I've experienced three sure signs of aging in the past week.

1. I no longer look upon snow with childish glee and excitement. Instead, I wonder if the power will go out and how much of a pain that will be. I think about how much more difficult it's going to be to deal with 8 to 10 dogs with a like number of inches of snow on the ground.

2. Skin that could once have served as an alternative source of oil in my youth, is now so dry and scaly that I look and feel like a snake shedding its skin. It's particularly bad this time of year when the air is dry anyway and the heat is running constantly trying to keep the house at a habitable temperature.

3. The most telling of all, the third strike, the fatal blow, the death knell to any claim to youth:  on Wednesday we had a meeting with a retirement counselor. We weren't picking out nursing homes, it was just a meeting with the account manager of Clay's retirement fund, but it involved talking about projected retirement age, savings, Social Security, etc. To make matters worse, all too often these days when Clay and I walk into a bar, I'm the oldest person there. It's best not to think about it. I take solace in knowing that I'm the youngest in my family, so I just imagine how my two older sisters must feel.

Maya, proving that she can and does walk on water.

Trooper

The Rivanna River. You could hear the river
flow because sheets of ice were floating and
would collide. It would have been a nice day
to be out in the canoe.

Daisy and Maya, heading down a trail
covered in snow. We were the first on this
trail since the snow.

The snow has really cut into my hiking this week. I've been out for a couple of short ones, 1.5 miles one day, 2.5 miles today, but walking through snow is tough going and not much fun. We've all been cooped up indoors much more than usual and it takes a toll. The dogs get bored and restless; I get bored, stiff, and irritable. The walking is tough, but we all feel better afterwards.

Diesel is doing well in his new home. I miss the big guy. He's a big dog and a big personality, so his absence is felt around here, but he's happy and adjusting well, and we will too.

The pics are from my short walks over the past few days.

Daisy, overlooking the Rivanna River

Maya, Trooper, and Daisy

Ochie out front, with Max and Barkley in pursuit.