Paws

The first real sign that Paws was aging came when he struggled on his all-time favorite hike: a dimb through the forest and up granite, with pauses to splash in creeks and paddle to retrieve branches in Shirley Lake, as we made our way toward margaritas and water bowls at Squaw Valley's High Camp. Until that August day in 2012, Paws was all exuberance, all the time, without a hint of exhaus tion. I knew on the tram ride down that it would the last time for that annual ritual. Other joys of his life would begin to disap-pear. The sight of a bouncing tennis ball became a curiosity to ob-serve instead of a mission to pursue. His joints had reached the point where his exercise was reduced to a nightly walk around the block. In late September 2014, I brought him in to Dr. Judd. Paws had lost 10 pounds since August, and his limping had become so pronounced that an alarmed neigh-bor feared that he had been hit by a car when he wandered down the street. He was pecking at food he once devoured. Even that walk around the block became too much. After examining Paws, Dr. Judd looked up, and his eyes spoke before his voice: "It's really down to the wire? I was not ready that day. I needed the assur-ance that Paws did not have one more miracle recovery left in him. He did not. I was hoping against hope that Paws would die a peaceful, natural death in his sleep to spare me the decision that every pet owner dreads. Then again, if this were easy, he wouldn't be Paws. As I comforted him in his fading moments, I apologized for the times I Wised at him n almost always more in amused agitation than anger fi and thanked him for all the laughter and joy he infused in the house. I drew solace in seeing him absorbed In a state of repose that had become so maddeningly elusive for him. It's been nearly four years now, and I still miss him. Rest in peace, Paws.