Journeys With Jani

I ask myself this at least once a week—usually while stepping over a pair of Basset ears stretched across the floor like a speed bump. Shelby is creeping up on 10, Cash is coming up on 9, and Bean just turned 11 (and would like you to know he’s still the supervisor of this household). These three have been the soundtrack of our lives—tail thumps, contented snores, and that dignified little “mrrrp” from Bean when dinner is two minutes late.

And yet the math is just plain rude. We get maybe a decade—if we’re lucky a little more—of their entire, whole-hearted everything. They give us so much in such brief lives. Why can’t they stay?

The cruel time math (and the gift hiding inside it)

Dogs and cats live on fast-forward. They pack an entire saga—childhood, teens, wise old soul—into the span of a few of our chapters. It’s unfair. But somewhere in that crunch of days is the lesson I keep relearning: love out loud, now. Pets don’t future-trip. They celebrate Tuesday like it’s Mardi Gras because the sunbeam hit the rug just right. They remind us that ordinary moments are the good stuff we’ll miss later.

Shelby teaches joyful ritual—slow morning sniffs and evening porch sits like it’s a religion. Cash teaches resilience (that boy has ridden the health roller coaster and still greets life like it owes him belly rubs). Bean? He’s the master of presence. When he parks himself on my laptop with that 11-year-old gravitas, it’s not to be annoying—it’s to say, “Be here.” I hear you, sir.

Anticipatory grief is real (and you’re not dramatic)

If you’ve loved an old pet, you know this dance: one day they’re zooming; the next they’re a little stiff; then suddenly the white on the muzzle looks like powdered sugar. You find yourself memorizing the weight of their head on your knee, the exact pitch of the dinner bark, the smell of warm dog after a nap. That’s not being morbid—that’s your heart taking pictures.

So what do we do with the time we have?

Here’s what I’m doing with my trio, and maybe it’ll help you with yours:

Make a “small joys” list and actually do it. Extra car rides (windows cracked, ears flapping), a weekly peanut-butter spoon ceremony, new snuffle mats, fresh catnip for the Bean Boss. Turn routines into rituals. Morning yard patrol becomes “Shelby’s Sunrise Tour.” Bedtime treat becomes “Cash’s Crunchy Curtain Call.” It sounds silly. It works. Record the ordinary. Thirty-second videos of their goofy walk, their snore, that little pre-nap circle. You’ll want the sounds later. Paw prints & nose boops. A clay paw print, a smudged nose print on paper, a lock of fur in a tiny vial—tangible love notes for future you. Invite them into your life, not just your house. Errands, quick drives, lazy porch time, Sunday afternoon football naps—bring them along for the nothing moments.

Senior-pet TLC (from a seasoned pet momma)

I am not your veterinarian, but after years of being in and around vet-med—and loving seniors with my whole heart—here’s what helps:

Twice-a-year checkups once they’re “distinguished.” Catch the little stuff early. Comfort first. Cushy beds, rugs on slick floors, a ramp for the couch and car. Pride is lovely; pain relief is lovelier. Keep ‘em lean and moving. Short, happy walks; gentle play; sniffaris (a slow walk where their nose leads and time doesn’t matter). Brain games. Puzzle feeders, hide-and-seek treats, new routes. Bean votes for window perches and judging the neighborhood. Teeth matter. Cleanings, chews your vet approves, and quick daily brush-bys if they’ll allow it. Supplements & meds—only with your vet. Omega-3s, joint support, and whatever your doc recommends. Comfort is the goal, not a marathon.

Let yourself love them “too much”

People say, “Don’t get too attached.” Bless their hearts. That’s the whole point. If love could add years, my hounds would be applying for AARP and Bean would be collecting Social Security with a pearl collar. We can’t make the clock stop, but we can make every tick count.

So tonight I’ll do what I do most nights: scratch Shelby’s velvet ears, tell Cash he’s the best boy that ever boy’d, and let Bean choose which side of the pillow is mine. I’ll take too many photos and not apologize. I’ll thank God for the fur, the noise, the muddy paw prints, and the way they make even an ordinary Tuesday feel like a holiday.

Why can’t our pets live longer? I don’t know. But while they’re here, I’m going to love them like time forgot.

XOXO, Jani