Your article touched me, and I have to say something, though I don't know what quite yet.

My little guy -- Tristan -- is still here. When I rescued him 12 years ago, with bones sticking in all directions, it was obvious he had been abused. Fortunately, we had other dogs, which helped him settle in.

We got attached right away, I think because we were both survivors. He has lived his life in a village full of large dogs, coyotes, owls, hawks, eagles. I on the other hand contracted some conditions which the doctors said would kill me years ago, but now I'm 75.

My children are gone, and my younger wife works all the time. So all day, it's just me and Tristan. He's always within a couple feet of me, and I'm always on the lookout to protect him if necessary. The only other being in the house, I talk to him all day long, while he pretends not to know what I'm saying.

But there is a sad side to our attachment. Both of us know we're near the end, and both of us are afraid the other one will die first.

I've had to put many dogs down. I loved every one of them. But I shiver a bit at the thought of having to do that with my little guy.