I still remember the first time someone told me my dog was “too old for kisses.” At the time, I laughed it off, thinking they were just joking.
But the more I thought about it, the more it started to bother me. Why would anyone say that about a dog who has given me nothing but unconditional love her entire life? She may be older now—sleeping more, running less—but that doesn’t mean she’s any less worthy of my affection.
I’ve had my dog, Bella, for nearly thirteen years. I adopted her when she was just a tiny ball of fur, stumbling around with oversized paws and a wagging tail that never seemed to stop. She followed me everywhere—through countless moves, job changes, heartbreaks, and celebrations. Bella was there when I graduated, when I got my first real apartment, and when I felt like I had no one else to lean on.
Back then, everyone thought Bella was adorable. She had these big, soulful eyes and a fluffy coat that was the color of wheat fields. Strangers on the street would bend down to pet her and say, “Aww, she’s so cute!” She loved every moment of attention. If you so much as glanced in her direction, she’d scamper up to you, wagging her tail like crazy and licking your hands in excitement.
But over time, something changed. Bella got older. Her muzzle started turning gray around the edges, and her movements slowed down just a little bit each year. And it was strange to notice how some people’s attitudes changed along with her. Suddenly, the same neighbors who once said, “She’s precious!” would walk by without a second glance. Strangers on the street, who used to stop and fawn over her, barely noticed her anymore.
I began to hear comments like, “Wow, she’s getting up there, huh?” or “Must be hard taking care of an older dog.” But the comment that stung the most was when someone murmured, “She’s not really that cute anymore, is she?” I don’t think they meant to be cruel—it was more like a casual observation. But to me, it felt like a punch to the gut.
I tried to brush it off. Bella was still Bella, whether she was a bouncy puppy or a gentle senior. She might have cloudy eyes and a bit of stiffness in her joints, but her heart was the same. Still full of love, still always at my feet the moment I walked through the door, still wagging her tail whenever I scratched behind her ears. She had a quieter presence now, but a presence that was just as meaningful to me.
What hurt more was when my own friends started to tease me. They’d see Bella lying on the couch and say things like, “Don’t you want a younger dog who can keep up with you?” or “She’s probably too old to play fetch anymore. Is it even fun?” Some even hinted that maybe it was time for me to consider letting her go—or at least stop doting on her so much. One friend outright said, “You know you’re not gonna have her much longer—why get so attached?”
I tried to avoid these conversations, but they kept popping up. Suddenly, it felt like everyone had an opinion about my sweet old dog. I caught myself worrying about whether they were right—was I somehow clinging to the past by keeping Bella? Was I selfish for not wanting to let her go?
But then I’d look into Bella’s eyes. She’d be curled up in her favorite spot by the couch, head resting on her paws, watching me the way she always did. And when I came closer, she’d give me that little tail wag, slow but certain, as if to remind me: Hey, I’m still here, and I still love you.
That was all the reassurance I needed.
I started to notice other ways people treated older dogs differently. At the vet’s office, I’d see people come in with puppies, all excited and doting, while the older dogs seemed… overlooked. The puppy owners would shower their little furballs with kisses and cuddles, but the older dogs? They might get a pat on the head, if they were lucky. Some of them looked so sad, as if they knew they were no longer the center of attention.
Whenever I saw that, my heart ached. Because I knew that once upon a time, Bella had been the star of the show too. Everyone adored her. But time is unkind to all of us, and for dogs, it’s so much shorter. One day you have a puppy who can’t stop jumping around, and before you know it, you have a senior dog who sleeps most of the day.
I decided I wasn’t going to let Bella’s golden years be defined by neglect or half-hearted affection. She deserved better. She deserved all the kisses in the world, because she earned them through a lifetime of loyalty and love.
So I made changes in my life. I cleared more space in my schedule to spend time with her—short walks in the morning and slow strolls in the evening. If she got tired, we’d sit on a bench and just enjoy the fresh air together. I made sure she had a comfortable bed in every room she liked to lounge in, so she never had to struggle to find a soft spot.
I also started taking more photos of her. Why should the puppies get all the adorable snapshots? Bella might be older now, but she’s still beautiful to me. In fact, I think she’s even more beautiful because of the little scars and gray hairs that tell the story of her life. When I share those pictures online, some people comment, “She’s old,” or “Wow, you can really see her age.” But just as many people say, “She looks so sweet,” or “What a precious senior dog!”
And that’s enough for me. I’ll take the occasional negative remark if it means celebrating Bella exactly as she is.
A few months ago, I threw a little “senior dog party” for her. It wasn’t huge, just a few friends and their older dogs hanging out in the backyard. We had dog-friendly cupcakes and plenty of comfy blankets around for the dogs to nap on. Bella was hesitant at first—she’s never been a big fan of crowds—but she slowly warmed up. By the end of it, she was hobbling around, sniffing at the younger dogs, and even letting a couple of people pet her who she hadn’t met before. For an old girl, that was a big step.
One of my friends who attended the party later told me, “I never realized how special older dogs could be. There’s this gentleness about them that puppies just don’t have.” Hearing that made my entire day. I love puppies as much as anyone, but there’s something heartwarming about an old dog who’s seen you through life’s ups and downs and still wants nothing more than to curl up beside you.
Don’t get me wrong—this is not always easy. Bella has her rough days. Sometimes she’s in pain, or she just doesn’t have the energy to move around much. My vet bills have gone up because senior dogs need more regular checkups, arthritis medicine, and the occasional blood test. I have to be vigilant about her weight, her diet, her joints. When I see her struggling to climb the stairs, I feel an ache in my chest like I can’t even describe. Because I know that no matter how many times I carry her up those steps, I can’t carry her forever.
That knowledge is always there, lingering in the back of my mind, reminding me that my time with her is limited. But it also pushes me to cherish every moment. To never skip a chance to cuddle with her on the couch, to never shy away from giving her a kiss on the head—even if someone is watching and thinks it’s weird to kiss an old dog.
I’m trying to make peace with the fact that I can’t reverse the clock. I can’t change the way society views older animals, and I can’t magically make Bella young again. But I can change the way I treat her. I can show her that she’s loved, that she’s still my number-one companion, that “too old for kisses” is a phrase that will never come out of my mouth.
What does the future hold for us? I really don’t know. Bella could have another year, another two, maybe even more if I’m lucky. The day will come when I have to make some hard decisions, when I have to balance my love for her with what’s best for her well-being. But I’m not there yet—and until that day comes, I’ll keep leaning down to kiss her on the head and whisper how much I love her.
For now, she’s here, lying beside me with her chin resting on my foot, dozing peacefully. Every so often, her tail gives a lazy wag, and she lets out a contented sigh. It’s moments like this that make all the worry and extra care worth it. She’s happy, I’m happy, and the rest of the world can say what they want about older dogs.
I’m not giving up on her. That’s all there is to it.
As for a perfect resolution? There isn’t one. Aging is inevitable, and heartbreak lies somewhere down this road. But right now—today—we still have each other. And that’s enough to keep me hopeful. Maybe that’s the real joy of loving an older dog: learning to appreciate every moment, every slow walk, every soft snore. Learning that kisses are never wasted, no matter how old she gets.
And if anyone wants to say she’s “too old for kisses”? Well, they can keep that opinion to themselves. Because Bella will always get all the kisses she wants from me.