Ella Bucalli's rescue stories, senior-dog notes, and the little routines I keep coming back to
3 posts from October 2025.
I usually hear the first sign of trouble from the hallway rug runner. It is a soft, repetitive sound, not the frantic scramble of a dog who needs the back door, but a slower, aimless shuffle that persists long after the house has settled for the night.
I used to assume that any change in my senior dog was simply a matter of joints getting stiff or energy levels dipping. I kept my ceramic dog-bone jar by the coffee maker filled with treats, and I waited for the usual signs—a bit more napping, perhaps a slower rise from the rug r
I used to judge our morning route by how many blocks we covered before returning to the leash hook by the door. I wanted a specific number of steps to feel like a good dog mom. If Walter and Mabel did not look tired by the time we reached the kitchen, I thought I had failed.