My First Boy

Rigley. My dog.
He was 7 weeks old when I adopted him. I was thirty, and coming off one hell of a year. Rigley was my savior. I had someone to take care of. Someone to love.
He went everywhere with me: Hiking, running, rollerblading, rock climbing. He was a part of the life I remember as "my prior life."
Now, I have to leave him home, as he is too old, and his legs hurt.
He likes to walk around the block now, and that is pretty much all he can handle thank you very much.
When did this happen?
When did enough time pass that I have a 14 year old dog? A 5 year old son, who will be starting kindergarten in 3 months?
How far I have come, how much I have learned.
How much I have grown in 14 years.
I see my dog Rigley, who really has a hard time hearing me now. Whose vision I am sure is fading fast due to cataracts, and I wonder where the time has gone. Where is the youthful, puppy-like dog that I used to have? Where did he go? I see it sometimes, when he is out and sees another dog.
I know that Rigley has lead a happy life.
He is loved, has been taken to so many cool places, petted, taken to dog parks, protected, and snuggled.
Now here I am protecting him from my sometimes rambunctious 5 year old, and wonder when this all happened. And I was I noticing?
Today Aidan and I took Rigley to the vet. He has an ear infection. When I told Aidan "Rigley had to go to the doggy doctor today" he started to cry. He thought he was going to die.
How does Aidan know this?
How does Aidan know that old dogs go to he vet do die, after a long, loving life on this planet, with a caregiver who has loved them so much, from day one?
Who told him this?
Did he figure this out on his own?
That time is coming, I know.