Still Beautiful: Milo and the Grace of Caring for an Aging Dog

Milo is dying.

Even writing those words, I feel the urge to soften them. To find another way to say it. But there is something tender about telling the truth. It lets me meet him where he is.

My almost fifteen-year-old German Shepherd is still so beautiful.

And yes, I mean now. In the present tense.

My goal is not to prolong the inevitable. My goal is to make every day as good as it can be for him, guided by his body and his desire to be here.

What feels good today? What does he still want? What has become too much?

I am trying to listen without making his answers about my fear of losing him.

We still walk three times a day.

We walk to the fire hydrant. He knows that is his target. He circles it, and we come home.

Sometimes he pretends to smell something behind him and turns us toward home a little sooner, as though he has forgotten we haven’t made it to the hydrant yet.

I pretend to forget with him.

We go home together.

There is a particular kind of love in this. A love that pays attention. A love willing to change its plans. A love that can say, I want you here so badly, and still leave room for what the one you love needs.

I don’t get this right every moment. I am learning....

Some days, grace may be a little pleasure. Some days, rest. Some days, letting the day be smaller than I wanted it to be. I want Milo to feel that he can be exactly as he is, without having to keep being who he was for my sake.

And this has me thinking about aging. His. Mine. All of ours.

Speak to Me in the Present Tense

Recently, at a family party in Europe, an older man, a friend of a friend of a friend, said something along the lines of:

“You used to be the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. A true panther!”

Used to.

Well. I almost clawed his eyes out.

Instead, I questioned his panther reference...and that little phrase, used to.

What am I now?

Let me tell you what I am.

I am a woman who heard the past tense in your compliment.

I am a woman with a life in her face. With desires, opinions, tenderness, and considerably less patience for being discussed as though her best days happened before she entered the room.

I am still here. You can speak to me in the present tense.

There are things about my younger self I miss. I can admit that. I don’t have to pretend every change is welcome to recognize the blessing of having lived long enough to change.

It took me fifty years to become this woman.

And when I think about beauty, I think of Baka at 103. She is my definition of beautiful. I pray I get another fifty-three years to discover who I might become.

Then I look at Milo, and I realize how fiercely I want us both to be seen as we are today.

Caring for an Aging Dog, One Day at a Time

Milo brings me back to the heart of Rawsome: the way we nourish a life matters. The way we care for an aging dog matters.

For me, senior dog nutrition is personal. It is about the dog in front of me, today. His appetite. His comfort. What he can enjoy, and what he no longer wants.

Fresh, amazing food has been part of how I care for him. There is love in choosing it, preparing it, offering it...and paying attention to his response.

Alongside his food, his care has included Sound Dog Viscosity and Run Free, as well as mushrooms, Potent-Sea, and CBD. These are parts of Milo’s individual routine, chosen with intention and reconsidered as his needs change.

Green-lipped mussels are an intentional part of his nutritional care - an incredible whole-food supplement offered in both powder and freeze-dried form. I value them as nourishment, alongside the other carefully chosen parts of his routine.

Something that suited him before may need to be adjusted now. What I offer, how much, and in what form - all of it leaves room for the answer he gives me.

Even a carefully prepared bowl can carry so much of my hope. I want to remember that his response is his own. My job is to notice it.

Just as I can let the fire hydrant wait, I can let a routine change.

Nutrition can support a life. It cannot promise us forever.

The purpose of nourishing Milo has always been to help him feel good in the life he has. Now, as that life approaches its end, the intention is still the same.

I am listening more closely.

This is what I want Rawsome to stand for: care that stays curious and responsive through every stage of life. The pleasure of eating. The comfort of being cared for. The chance to feel as good as we can in the bodies we have today.

Still My Beautiful Boy

I look at Milo with the same love and admiration I always have. His beauty hasn’t expired because his body is changing.

Milo doesn’t have to stay young to be my beautiful boy.

And I don’t have to stay young to be a beautiful woman.

I don’t want to look at him and see only the distance between who he was and who he is. I want to see him today. To notice what still brings him pleasure, what he reaches toward, and when he needs me to let him rest.

That feels like something we owe ourselves, too.

Can we inhabit the body we have today? Can we care for it without treating every change as a betrayal? Can we allow ourselves to have a good day without first needing to become a previous version of us?

When I say aging and death are blessings, I don’t mean that suffering is beautiful. I don’t mean that grief is easy, or that I feel grateful every time I am frightened.

I mean that aging is part of the life we get to have. Almost fifteen years with Milo is a blessing I can barely find words big enough to hold.

And I am beginning to find grace in allowing a life to have an ending, even when I wish, with everything in me, that it could go on.

I thought about documenting Milo’s death. But I can’t bring myself to do it.

He deserves his privacy. He doesn’t like strangers anyway...and in all these years into knowing him, I should probably respect that.

I can share what loving him has taught me while keeping his final moments our own.

Milo does not owe me more time.

I want to give him my attention in the time we have. I want my love to help make his days comfortable and good, and to let his needs guide me when my own heart is asking for more.

I am trying to listen without making his answers about my fear of losing him.

Today, he is here.

Today, I am here.

There is still a day to care for.

Nourishing your companion through every stage of life

Explore Rawsome’s fresh food offerings, read our guide to starting raw feeding, or talk with us about your companion’s changing nutritional needs.