My dog Gig, part beagle, dalmatian, mostly et cetera, has lived through three different decades. He saw the fall of the Berlin Wall, the rise of globalization. Gig lived through the endless patterns of seasons with their floods and droughts; the freeze of winter and hot haze of summer. He witnessed me, from the age of 7 until today at 23-years-old. On this day in 1989 Gig was born. Our yard has never been the same.

I spend time with him often, as I always have. Yesterday our time was especially drawn, and I took my camera just for fun. He's much older now, in every way one can be. He has arthritis and is much slower. He's probably lost 85% of his hearing or more, and his sight isn't much better. I still see him running and skipping about every now and then, though. To be very honest, very blunt, however, I must say that I think this is his last birthday. I usually buy him some type of bone on which to chew, but I don't think he can this year. I fed him very well—lots of people food. He's old and feeble, but I think he's happy.

Here are the pictures I took. I eventually started taking pictures of the grass for some reason. I'm afraid that when I wind up buying the new camera I want that there will be many, many more pictures of this sort. Just preparing you.

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