We now reach the end of volume one. Reading through Montaigne’s essay On Age again, I see glimmers of his grand conclusion On Experience in it, except he hasn’t had the full experience of those final years and instead draws some preliminary conclusions that take the position that we should always view ourselves as having lived enough life.

Over the last several months, I’ve been dealing with difficult health issues with my 12 year old dog, a puggle named Bogey. Bogey has been dealing with chronic breathing issues. He’s had a couple bouts of pneumonia and has made many trips to the vet, running up a health care tab in the thousands.

I know that there are some people who if they had a pet in similar circumstances would do both more and less. Vets are always eager to offer the most extreme examples of care, and Bogey could have gone to numerous veterinarian specialists and received a battery of tests.

And there are also others who would have sought end of life options to a dog in such a situation. I’m not going to judge either one of those routes at this moment.

Instead, I want to focus on what I’ve learned from Bogey as he’s approached the end of life. He has slowed down considerably and has some very bad days from time to time. In some ways, he’s the same as always — still the expert in begging for food.

But he has changed in interesting ways with his slowdown. His walks now seem endless. He meanders at his own pace, but is also stubborn in his path. If Bogey wants to cross in the middle of the street, away from a crosswalk, I have to wait for traffic to make it possible. Bogey will get his way.

His slowdown has also changed his personality. For most of Bogey’s life, he’s been an anxious dog, barking at seemingly everything, mostly uncomfortable around other dogs, oblivious to most people. But now, Bogey rarely barks and isn’t triggered by other dogs anymore. He can sniff other dogs comfortably now and not lunge at them.

More dramatic is his approach to people — Bogey now loves to be stopped for a visit. He loves getting pets and nothing makes him happier than dropping in the local petstore where everyone knows him by name and is eager to give him a treat.

It’s almost like his decline has made Bogey slow down and enjoy the summer in a way he hasn’t been able to in the past, when he rushed from odor to odor, seeing potential foes around every corner.

All of this speaks to why I’m willing to spend on medical care that I know won’t cure Bogey’s chronic health issues, but will keep him alive a bit longer. I think these last days are happy ones for him. And being responsible for his care, I think I owe it to Bogey to squeeze as much happiness from his life that he can find.

So, I dismiss a lot of what Montaigne is saying in this essay. Aging, in my mind, is a gift. I am fortunately not at the slowing down part of life — although I’ll admit that some days my workouts challenge my body in unexpected ways too. But I experience this part of my life with everything that has come before, all the relationships and connections, all the skills, all the books and movies, all the triumphs and disappointments. They all add to the life I have now. I look back on all of it without regret.

I hope that I have many years to come. And I know whatever time I have left will include sorrows — and that mourning Bogey will be part of that. I accept it all, because that’s what it means to be alive.