Three years ago my then 8-year old Australian Shepherd Montay, the first true love of my life, tore her ACL and required expensive, extensive surgery. Although irrelevant to the blog, this happens to be the second surgery she’s gone through, the first happening when she was maybe 6 months old.

I have always prided myself on taking incredible care of her all of her life. I rescued her from a pound when she was 8 weeks old, and managed to keep her alive throughout college. We’ve traveled America together; she’s literally been on plains, trains, and in automobiles. She’s been my best friend, my confidant, and has kept me on my toes. She’s been through breakups with me, and let me use her as a pillow into which to weep on more than one occasion. As an Aussie, she’s been high energy her entire life and forced me to go on walks or take her to the park even on days where all I wanted to do was sit.

Because we have a new baby, Montay’s walks have been limited as of late, to say the least. I try my best to squeeze in walks when I can, but they have been short and less frequent, much of the time. Friday night, I was at my dad’s house and he has a huge yard. I figured this would be a great opportunity to let her get out and play fetch, one of her all-time favorite activities.

Briefly the thought of her getting injured crossed my mind. (A few months prior, I took her for a quick outing to play, and she returned home with a limp. Luckily, that limp healed itself within a few days and she was back to normal). But this is why I thought twice about throwing the ball for her this time. I knew the potential existed for her to reinjure her leg.

I briefly weighed my options. She could get hurt again. But she so deserves this. She never gets out anymore. And this is such a safe place for her to run…open, no other dogs, no cars, just endless yard. But what if she gets hurt? Oh well, she won’t…not five seconds later I saw her returning to me, limping, with her tennis ball in her mouth.

Immediately guilt came over me. I knew better. I knew there was a risk involved and still I threw the ball. I began kicking myself that moment, and so far, haven’t stopped.

The fate of Montay’s leg is unknown at this time. We may end up needing to surgically intervene, yet again, or it may heal enough on it’s own not to move forward with surgery. Time will tell. And this is not a decision I’m taking lightly as this poor dog has been through two traumatic surgeries in her life already. But the value of this incident for me comes in so many forms. It speaks to ignoring your instinct, and it speaks to life being finite.

To acknowledge the fact that—regardless of whether we move forward with surgery or not—her days of running are over, is very sad for me. It speaks to her getting older and me having to make adjustments to fit her old age. It is a constant reminder that things change and time passes. We can do the best we can to prolong the inevitable (in this case, feed her the best food, walk her nearly every day of her life to keep her healthy and spry) but at the end of the day, things change. And we have to change with them.

Maybe me throwing that final ball was me being resistant to change. Not wanting to admit that she’s too old, her knees too fragile to run like she used to. Maybe it was a lack of ability to put her health before what’s probably best for her, like I’ve done myself far too many times. Whatever it is, her current limp serves as a constant reminder about how this world is changing and time is passing, whether I like it or not. I can resist or I can learn to bend.

Montay has adjusted to her limp, for now. And as her owner, I’d like to think I’m not further than being one step behind her.