If this dog could talk

Eat. Play. Love. The three most important dog words in the English language. And maybe these: Car. Cookie. Potty. Walk. If you don’t believe me, trying walking into our house and saying one of them, and see if you aren’t immediately put upon to perform a trick.

Every dog has its day, and today is Madison’s: She is 15 years old.

The little stinkpot has outlived both of her canine siblings, Uncle Chico and her mother, Annie.

Fifteen. Wow. For a 10-pound dog like Maddie, that’s about 76 in human years, according to Mr. Googly. (Please disregard the “one dog year equals seven human years” malarkey. It’s a myth, along with the one that 63 is the new 53. Total malarkey.)

Unrelated aside: Last fall, I read a NYT op-ed piece that divulged how you know when you’re middle-aged. Obvious signs included listening to “cool” podcasts where, unlike you, the hosts are in their 50s. Or emulating the fashion of your slightly younger colleagues when you should not. And learning that you can make yourself cry simply by reaching for the alarm clock too quickly.

But here’s the least subtle sign to smack your (naturally) resting bitch face: “You know that when you wind up in physical therapy it will not be the result of a marathon or water skiing but because of something that happened on a sidewalk.”

Get up, Boomer. Before your smart watch calls 9-1-1 and your girlfriend.

Back to our little bitch.

Thinking of her as 76, it’s easier to understand why Maddie’s been slowing down, sleeping more, walking less, forgetting where she put stuff and eating like a horse. She has become us.

If she could talk, here are some things Maddie would like you (and her mamas) to know about senior dogs:

• “I don’t see or hear so good anymore.”

Keep rooms clear. Don’t wash off my eye-level doorwall licks. Leave the sliding screen open. Use hand signals. (Not that one.) Speak a little louder. NOT TOO LOUD. Just a little. Add more raised water bowls around the house in my new favorite rooms. P.S. Keep the bowl by the bar if I have friends over.

• “I’ve got some weird lumpy bumps on my body.”

They’re harmless and called dog warts. I like to chew them for sport. But I’ll stop if you give me steak.

• “I’m anxious more than I used to be.”

Not about thunderstorms, so you can ditch that overpriced ThunderShirt. Sometimes I’m not as sharp as I used to be. Like, if you toss the “baby” too high, I’m not gonna catch it. Nope. Not trying. I’ll shame you with my stare. However, if you blast that mini-tennis ball out of the K-9 Kannon, I’m all over it. Wait for me to bark before you shoot, or it’s no fun to watch you squirm.

• “I don’t move as well as I did when I was 5.”

Sir Arthur Itis visits me more often, and my joints and muscles ache. Sometimes the old trick knee I had repaired when I was a pup flares up so I have trouble vaulting on the ottoman or using stairs. I might slip on wood or tile floors. But I swear if you put those padded Pluto monkey sox on me again, I’m out.

• “Oh, and one more thing before you ‘go to work’ again, liars.”

Say, “Alexa, play Spa music.”

You’ve got us trained, birthday girl!