And my stay-at-home human finally understands that she will never have the knees of a 16 year old again. Or for that matter, a 60 year old marathoner.
But at least she can now take me for walks.
We can even walk quite briskly. So long as I don't make any sudden moves, or bang into her, or push her into a pothole, or pull her towards a possum.
There are a lot of p.r.o.v.i.s.o.s in our walks these days, and I'm sure she has moments when she wishes I was a chihuahua instead of a 44.3kg pig dog.
Last week, I had to wait outside The Red Cross OpShop.
I don't mind because I'm always hungry too.