One thing she does seem to have retained an vestigial memory of; before her slow decline she had always, no matter how deeply asleep she might be, reacted when the clock turned to five in the late afternoon. She would awake, alert, and signal to us that she wanted to go out. The purpose of going out to the backyard purportedly to urinate, but really to let us know that she was expecting her evening meal.

While she no longer goes outside on her own because she is almost completely blind, and requires accompaniment, it has become clear that she no longer remembers why she reacts as she does. She wakes up and begins to restlessly wander the house, or the backyard, stumbling into everything, knocking her head against immovable objects, and we wince, and try to guide her to safe passages.

She no longer seems to recognize her own body telling her of a need to become hydrated. We now bring water to her, or lead her to her water bowl. Sometimes she drinks deeply, sometimes she just is not interested in drinking, but if we leave her to her own devices she can go a complete day without herself approaching her water bowl.

She no longer waits, expectantly, to be fed, hovering around the kitchen while her food is prepared. She simply wanders interminably, clumsily, through the house, the only interior she has ever known but whose parameters of space and objects within that space she seems to have forgotten. Most often we have to bring her into the kitchen and deposit her beside her food bowl. She will pick away, wander about, come back to pick at her food again, and eventually manage to eat it all, particularly if it has been spiked with something extra that appeals to her taste buds.

If we manage to time her evacuations just so, there will be no deposits in the house that day. We are not always successful; she has lost the recognition of what is appropriate, simply naturally responding to her urges. During our daily hour to an hour-and-a-half walk in the nearby woods she often will neither urinate nor evacuate.

She wears a halter during our walks, and we're able to guide her with it, otherwise she ambles awkwardly off the trail, gets turned about, doesn't realize which direction we're walking in, unlike previously when she knew all the trails so intimately and naturally. When she comes to a complete standstill and remains there, we understand she no longer wishes to continue on her own, and she is picked up for a distance until the terrain is flat and wide again, and she can be placed back on her own four feet to continue the walk.

She always had a standoffish personality, never was one to take to cuddling, a very independent streak that we respected, unlike her younger male companion dog. Latterly, however, we feel it is important for her to receive physical attention from us, and we stroke her and speak to her even though it's doubtful she can any longer hear us.

She reciprocates in her own way, informing us that she values that physical touch.