A little while ago, I noticed it.

The hair around Dexter’s eyes and snout, usually a beautiful shade of light brown, has slowly turned to white – hair by hair.

He’s getting older.

It sucks. You can’t help but remind yourself that eventually, maybe years down the road, The Day will come. Every now and then, my mind has a moment of weakness and I’ll think about it. What would my life be without him? It’s not in some sort of escapism. It’s more in fear. What would my life be without him?

Being a dog owner is a lot about routine.

You have to wake up at a certain hour to take them out.

You usually take a similar route for your morning walk.

They usually poop and piss in the same spots.

When you get back, you get into the same routine – I open the blinds so he can see outside, then I go and fill up his water bowl and fill up his food bowl.

Then, and only then, can I start my day.

That’s the morning, but as far as nightly routines, many dog owners face a similar (silly) question: does your dog sleep with you?

Get a collection of dog owners – scratch that, dog lovers – and we’ll all meet it with laughs. Of course. Duh. Why wouldn’t we? Dexter is expected to sleep in my bed and in the days he gets an attitude and sleeps on the couch, my feet flail around the empty space of my mattress. I have it all to myself and it’s never comfortable. It’s only when he’s laid right in the middle, causing me to contort and twist my body, when I can get a good night’s sleep.

In the popular TV show, “The Office,” character Andy Bernard has one of the most potent quotes I’ve ever heard in pop culture. As the company is being disbanded and all of his co-workers are doomed to their separate ways, he says:

“I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.”

This should be life as a dog owner.

I get so used to the normal routines of being a dog owner. Take him for a walk. Give him food. Give him love when I get home. Take him out before I go to bed.

But those aren’t the moments I will remember when he’s gone.

The white hair has reminded me.

The other night, I updated my iPhone to the newest operating system. It took forever and I should have been waiting and checking my phone every chance I got.

But no.

Instead, I pet Dexter.

I looked him in the eyes and looked at the white around his face. I knew our time together wasn’t infinite. That’s what made it special. There would be a time where I would go to bed and my mattress would be filled with only my legs.

This isn’t about appreciating a dog when you realize they’re on the final holes of their life. When you know they’re dying, you make sure to spoil them, taking them wherever they can go and giving them food they wouldn’t normally be allowed to eat. You get as much love as you can with them until everybody knows it’s time.

This is about knowing when time is starting to turn.

They are young enough to go to the park with fresh legs and a full bladder, a zest of life that rivals a young dog, but a wisdom that comes with older age. Not only the wisdom, but the white hair in the snout to prove it.

Every night, we have a routine.

Whether he is on the couch or on the bed, when I’m ready, I blurt out, “You gotta potty?”

Wherever he is, I hear him jumping off. We go out toward the backyard – pushing opening the back doors – and he spends several minutes walking around my backyard. Eventually, I open the door to go back inside and he comes running.

We run through the doors and get into bed. He chews on his toys while I read underneath a lamp.

Only this time, I didn’t want to read. I turned my body toward him and he stood there looking at me – his back legs laying on the bed while his front legs stood up firm. We looked at each other, and I pet him for a several minutes. On top of the head. Behind the ears. Along the back. Under his belly. I looked at the white around his face.

“You’re my favorite guy ever, you know that?” I asked him.

His brown eyes stared back at me. He didn’t answer.

“My favorite guy ever.”