What Sophia is Teaching Me About Growing Older

Yesterday, Sophia, my thirteen-year-old therapy dog, had her first acupuncture session.

If you’ve ever met Sophia, you know she has never met a stranger. She is convinced every human being was placed on Earth for one purpose—to adore her.

And adoration is a two-way street.

She especially loves Dr. Keith and his healing hands. When I go for my treatments, she gets one too. As he works, she gazes up at him with complete trust and the kind of joy that only dogs seem able to express.

At thirteen years old, Sophia is showing some of the changes that come with age. At age seventy, I am becoming acquainted with a few changes of my own. My ballroom dancing days seem like another lifetime. And Sophia can no longer perform the tricks that once made high school students cheer.

Her hearing is fading. Her arthritis makes her limp. She can no longer walk down the four steps to the yard by herself.

That means she now potties on washable puppy pads inside the house. I do Sophia’s laundry twice a day. When visitors come over, I find myself quietly wondering if they notice the smell before I do.

And she continues to live with an unexplained cough that has accompanied her for years. Some nights the coughing is so severe that it wakes us both. I lie there in the darkness listening to her struggle for a moment, and despite all my years of working with animals, my mind still drifts to the same fearful question:

Is this it?

Have I done everything I can? Could I be doing more?

It takes discipline not to let what I call “The Habit of Worry” hijack my mental airwaves.

Like many people who share their lives with aging animals, I sometimes find myself wishing I could stop time.

I can’t.

And sometimes, before I fall asleep, I find myself wondering if Sophia is still enjoying her life as much as she once did.

Then morning comes.

Sophia bounds into the kitchen, excited about breakfast. She zooms around the kitchen island while I prepare her homemade meal. She looks at me as though I’m Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy all rolled into one.

And I find myself laughing. Because in that moment, she isn’t worried about arthritis. She isn’t worried about hearing loss. She isn’t worried about tomorrow. She is simply delighted that breakfast is on the way. And I marvel at how completely she gives herself to each good moment, as if it might last forever.

So what is my next step in helping her?

Animal Communicator Penelope Smith, who has worked with Sophia, suggested acupuncture. I made an appointment with Dr. Forer, a wonderful holistic veterinarian at Sunrise Pet Clinic.

As Dr. Forer gently placed tiny needles along Sophia’s back, Sophia seemed far less concerned about the tiny pricks than whether everyone in the room was as happy as she was.

Sophia wears LifeWave patches. She eats homemade kibble that I prepare for her. I give her red-light laser treatments and plenty of Human-Animal Connection soothing touch. Every day, I look for ways to help her feel safe, comfortable, and just as loved as she has always been.

And yet, even when we do everything we can, there is still the natural rhythm of life. The hardest part of loving animals is that none of us can stop the passage of time.

Sophia’s story has inspired everyone who hears it. She began life as a frightened feral dog, passed from shelter to shelter, unsure whether the world was a safe place. I first met her while volunteering at The Humane Society. She didn’t trust people easily. But she took one look at me and leaped into my arms.

Some moments change your life forever. That was one of them.

When I adopted her and began training classes, she would give a convincing Cujo audition whenever another dog approached. She frightened grown men so much that they would cross the street rather than walk past her.

Few people would have looked at that fearful dog and imagined what she would become. Yet over the next decade, Sophia blossomed. Through patience, trust, and healing, she transformed into a therapy dog whose smile could light up a room.

She spent ten years visiting students, soldiers, veterans, 911 operators, hospice patients, and countless others in need of comfort. Thousands of people found themselves smiling simply because Sophia walked into the room.

After all, who can resist a little dog wearing a giant pink fluffy tutu?

Today, Sophia moves more slowly than she once did. The stairs are history. The walks are shorter. The naps are longer.

Sophia has survived two different types of cancer. But what amazes me is that Sophia doesn’t seem troubled by any of that. One of the greatest gifts animals offer us is their ability to live fully in the present moment. They don’t spend much time mourning yesterday or worrying about tomorrow.

They adapt. They accept help. They continue finding joy in simple things—a favorite treat, a sunny patch on the floor, a soft bed, a cuddle, a familiar friend.

As I watched Sophia during her acupuncture treatment, I realized she wasn’t focused on arthritis, hearing loss, or coughing. She wasn’t thinking about the things she can no longer do. She was simply enjoying being cared for. She was completely present. And in that moment, she seemed perfectly content.

That may be one of the most important lessons our animals teach us. Growing older is not just about losing what once was. It is about discovering new ways to love, care for, and appreciate one another.

As Sophia enters this new season of life, I find myself loving her more tenderly. Not because she has changed. But because I have become more aware of how precious our time together truly is. Every thinning patch of fur. Every slower step. Every nap beside me. Every joyful greeting when I walk through the door. These moments have become gifts.

Sophia moves slower these days, but her capacity for joy remains exactly the same. And every day, she reminds me that growing older is not the opposite of living fully. It is simply another way of doing so.

For now, she is still here beside me—teaching, loving, adapting, and showing me how to meet each day with grace.

And I am grateful for every lesson.

Genie Joseph, PhD

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