Living with an old dog whose thoughts you can read just by looking at its eyes is a continuous feeling of wishing for a bit more time each day. The dog I raise is a mix of a golden retriever and a labrador, and next year it will be 10 years old, so I can say it has now entered its senior years after passing through middle age.

When it was a puppy, it would pull me along with its eyes wide open whenever we went for a walk. But now, just a quiet glance is enough for us to communicate. If I move slightly before I open my eyes in the morning, it blinks as if waiting and gives me a look that seems to ask, 'What time are we going for a walk today?' Conversely, if I look tired, it shows me that it can quietly curl up on the sofa without bothering me.

Every time I open the refrigerator door, it rushes over and tilts its head, still looking like a young puppy, and when I let out a sigh without thinking, it places its head on my lap to comfort me, resembling a psychological counseling expert. When friends come over, they say, "A dog that communicates with its eyes before people, how amazing!" In reality, we can understand each other's feelings just by exchanging glances.

Perhaps because of the unique sociability of golden retrievers mixed with the loyalty of labradors, its personality is also distinctive. It approaches strangers with a bright smile and wagging tail, but if it senses discomfort, it quickly changes its demeanor and becomes quiet. Also, when I sit at home working for a long time, it comes over to my side and dozes off, as if saying, "Stop working and play with me now."

When we go for walks, it used to run at full speed to the end of the park, but now it walks a bit and glances at me with a look that says, 'Let's go home.' When its steps become heavy, instead of dragging it along, I turn my steps first and we head home together. It may not run as long as before, but instead, the time we spend sitting together and looking at the sky and the wind feels more precious.

Living with an old dog makes my heart ache every time I see that things are not like they used to be.

Stairs that it used to leap up with vigor now are climbed slowly, one step at a time, while looking at me. Now we match our walking speed, and we only play fetch for a short time. Instead, the time we spend sitting together on the grass, stroking its back, has increased.

Sometimes I think that perhaps the dog is the one raising me. It comforts me when I am tired, jumps and laughs with me when I am happy, and silently stays by my side when I am lonely.

Ultimately, living with an old dog is also about preparing for goodbye little by little each day. But in that process, I learn to cherish each day, to be moved by a single glance, and to understand each other without words.