My family had dogs when I lived at home (through August 1979), but I didn’t have a dog of my own until January 1993, when I brought two-month-old Sophie home from Red Oak, Texas. She was born in a horse barn, the offspring of an English Springer Spaniel and a Brittany Spaniel. Sophie is 15 years old today. I wish I could say that her health is good, but I can’t. She has had a sore leg for several years and has to hobble to get around. She stopped taking walks with Shelbie and me two or three years ago. Her appetite is good, and she still has a nose for treats, but she’s been losing weight. She spends most of her time sleeping. I suspect she’d ask me to put her to death if she could, but I can’t do it. I always thought I could, but I can’t.