Nobody prepares you for the emotional roller coaster of owning a senior dog.

Senior, another heinous word right up there with obsessed.

Anyway, dog ownership is the greatest gift. Puppies are easy.

They eat socks, chew furniture, and occasionally mistake your favorite shoes for appetizers. It is exhausting, but the rules are simple.

Older dogs?

They become furry mysteries.

One day they are sprinting after squirrels as though they’re auditioning for the Westminster Dog Show.

The next morning they’re limping dramatically, causing you to Google, “Can dogs suddenly develop arthritis overnight?” while simultaneously preparing yourself for the worst.

We have reached the stage of dog ownership where every cough becomes a medical conference.

Every refusal to eat breakfast sends me spiraling into WebMD, where Finnley is diagnosed with everything from indigestion to a rare tropical disease found only in llamas.

The veterinarian, meanwhile, calmly explains that she is just maturing.

That answer is both comforting and infuriating.

Getting older means becoming part pet owner, part pharmacist.

A pill hidden inside cheese, then peanut butter, then a meatball because apparently yesterday’s hiding place is  not appealing today.

Older dogs teach us something we humans spend a lifetime trying to learn.

They don’t dwell on yesterday’s aches.

They don’t worry about tomorrow’s appointment.

They simply enjoy today’s walk, today’s treat, today’s belly rub, and today’s nap in the sun.

Living with a senior dog means expecting the unexpected.

Some days are scary.

Some days are wonderfully, gloriously ordinary.

I probably worry too much, but every gray whisker, every slower walk, every contented sigh at the end of the day reminds me that my baby is getting older just like me.

Too much reality.

Now if you’ll excuse me, Finnley just sneezed.

I have a veterinary emergency to overreact to.