Not long after Michael was diagnosed with dementia, our last golden, Trudy, passed away. Michael came with me to the vet, and watched, befuddled by what was happening. Upset that I was upset, but not quite grasping why. For weeks, Michael looked for Trudy. And asked where she was. It broke my already fragile heart. A month or so later, knowing our distress, Kirk came by and said he’d heard about an old dog, a golden, whose family could no longer care for him. Would we like to meet him?
