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I'm an occasional Air America listener. I don't get to hear that much of it save for what I can pick up in the car in the morning, and what little I get if I go out to lunch.

I was very glad I went out to lunch today.

Ed Schulz had his legal adviser, Norman Goldman, on as a substitute DJ today. Smart guy. The part I just happened to catch was Norman talking about one of his hobbies, a hobby near and dear to my own heart - elderly animal rescue.

Norman was talking about the two dogs he'd gotten most recently. And then he said something that brought tears to my eyes. He promised both the dogs that no matter what happened, that this would be their "last stop on the train" and that they'd stay with him until the end.

He also had a great response when people ask him WHY he does this; he tells them "every two years, I need a good cry". His wife is not a fan of this statement, probably because it's the brutal truth. Taking on the care of an elderly pet is typically not a decades-long proposition. They stick around just long enough for you to love them, and they come to love you, and then they die. 

It's also expensive. There are a million reasons not to do it.

The few good reasons render the reasons not to do it utterly moot. My personal one is this; an animal that has devoted its life to giving love to humans and protecting them deserves a better retirement than being dumped in the doorway of the local humane society. If you're going to go that route, at least have the courage to have the animal put down yourself, as that's all a shelter can do with an animal that old.

I could not have put the sentiment that caused me to take my parent's cat, Britt, when they decided to move back east, into words any better than Mr. Goldman did. 

They were going to try to put a fourteen-year old cat up for adoption.

To put a cat that age up for adoption is nothing more than a death sentence. They did a pretty good job convincing themselves that it wouldn't work out that way - I, not having a stake in the self-image issues surrounding such a decision, knew better.  I couldn't allow such a thing to happen when I had the ability to stop it.

And that's exactly what I did. In late 2004, I took Britt into my home. I promised her that this would be the last time she'd have to worry about moving or having the bottom fall out from under her; that her and I would be in it, together, until the end.

I don't consider pets any differently than I do kids; you take on that responsibility, you are in it until the day you or they die, thick or thin. Your kids don't have any other options - neither do your pets, so act accordingly.

I didn't have the words then, but thanks to Mr. Goldman today, I do now. My house and my life is there for Britt, all the way until the last stop on the train.

(Note:  less than two months after I wrote this, Britt died in my arms from renal failure.  Every day with that cat was a gift and I would do it again in a second.  It's worth it to adopt older animals, folks.  Trust me on this.)

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