the note on mister i found on the wood box says he's tired and depressed. i ask him are you ok and he looks up and doesn't rise. i have to lift his bottom and watch him gingerly descend the stairs, ready to catch him if he falls. he pauses in the passageway for me to rub his back and i see his legs look stiff and skinny. i'll try and keep my back supple enough that i may still carry him. i carry my bike up and down three flights twice daily. i should be able to carry a 60 pound dog one flight of steps. i can only imagine when the snows come. b. says he's only 11 years old and i think how can that be. i want him to be younger too but i want him to reach 14.