A Tribute

He used to have us all to himself. Now he has a family of four.

He used to live in an apartment, four floors up. Now he has a little house with a scrubby backyard.

He used to spend each weekend morning roaming the largest park in Brooklyn with 300 of his peers. Now, he has that scrubby backyard.

He used to play in the snow. Now he lies under palm trees, heated by the Southern California sun.

He used to get thrice-daily walks. Now, if he's lucky, he gets thrice-weekly walks.

He used to be allowed on the couch. Now he is not.

He used to have two cat companions. Now he has the world's peskiest chihuahua for a friend.

He used to be silent. Now he barks gleefully whenever someone approaches the door, instructed in the art of vocalization by his new housemate.

He used to get petted and praised. Now he's at the whims of our two-year old, gently extricating himself from attempted rides and dress-up games.

He used to be the best dog on the planet. On that front, nothing has changed.