I'm sitting here at my computer, anxiously waiting for and dreading the phone call from the vet. I'm pretty sure what the call is going to suggest. 12 years is a lifetime for many dogs, and it will probably be a lifetime for our Chloe.
And then my mind wanders. It's starts comparing the lifetime of a D&D Elf to that of a Human or any of the shorter lived fantasy races and it occurs to me that the elves long lifespan is both a gift and a curse. Live the lifespan that is many times that of your fiends - and watch them grow old, sick and die - many times, many generations.
Then I ask myself - "why would elves EVER adventure with and form bonds with the shorter lived races, knowing that even in the best of circumstances their friends and comrades, if they were to reach old age and not perish while adventuring, would die while the elf were still young. As would the heirs of those adventurers, and their heirs' heirs."
I'm reminded that the heart chooses as it will, and it chooses our short lived companions because of the bonds we share. The value is not in the length of the life, but how it is ultimately lived.
Our Chloe has lived well, loved well and been loved.
Time waits for no man. Nor dog nor cat. It catches our furry friends more often than it catches us, but in the end, it catches us all.
And still we wait for the call. Anxious and dreading, both in turn.