Eras of our lives end up getting designated in dog years, and by that I don't mean one year being equivalent to seven. I mean looking back and remembering. It's inevitably "the Woodie years," or "the Suzie years" or any one of the ten dogs I've been privileged to know, love and share my life with since my earliest memories. I miss the eight who have died, all but one of old age. My family kept two, one older one younger and so their lives overlapped, the older "training" the younger. I've continued doing that. There are habits, tricks and behavioral quirks that I can recognize from thirty or more years ago, whether it was specific to a dog, or something my dad taught them. He's gone now, too. I can't imagine not having them around. They're a joyful presence, always happy to see you, always ready to play or especially to go, go anywhere, to the end of the earth so long as it's with you. Practical, too as a deterrent to thieves and people who are up to no good. They've got an ability to sense intent that many people just don't have. Excellent judges of character.
Pretty much summed it up very nicely. Dogs are one of God's best gifts to the mortal part of us and teach us much about how we should treat each other to foster the spiritual part...