There are loves that require no words, and there is a bond that defies the ordinary laws of time. Today, I sit here, typing these words beside an “old friend” who is curled up, fast asleep at my feet.

Luzi is 23 years old today. It is a number that, when spoken aloud, brings a lump to my throat.

1. The Miracle of 23 Years

In a dog’s world, 23 years is a supernatural journey. It is a human lifetime compressed; a vibrant youth and a quiet twilight all wrapped into one. Luzi is no longer the energetic pup who used to bowl me over with excitement every time I came home from school or work.

Looking at him now, I see the map of time etched into his very being. His coat, once thick and lustrous, has turned snowy white around his face—sparse and weathered by the seasons. His eyes, once as clear as amber, are now clouded by the milky veil of cataracts, rendering the world into soft, blurry shapes of light and shadow. His ears, once so sharp they could detect my footsteps from the end of the street, have slowly retreated into a world of silence.

But here is the thing: even as sight and hearing fade, the “scent of the heart” remains unchanged. The moment I step near, the moment my warmth radiates in the room, that thin, greying tail still managed to thump softly against the floor—a frail heartbeat of absolute, unyielding loyalty.

2. The Silent Witness

When I look at Luzi, I see my former self reflected back.

• Twenty-three years ago, I was a young person full of restless ambition, often impulsive and clumsy.

• Luzi was there, watching me move from a cramped rented room to a proper home.

• He was there when I tasted my first bitter failures, when I sobbed over a broken heart, and when I finally touched the first rungs of success.

During those long nights when the pressure of work felt like a crushing weight, when the rest of the world was asleep and only the dim glow of my desk lamp remained, Luzi was there. He stayed awake at my feet, asking for nothing, complaining about nothing. His silent presence was the greatest healing I have ever known. To Luzi, I never had to be successful or perfect. I only had to be “his person,” and that was always enough.

3. Slow Steps and Wordless Love

Caring for a 23-year-old dog is a journey of profound patience and empathy. Nowadays, his meals must be softened, and his steps up the stairs require my steady hand. Sometimes, he stands dazed in the middle of a room due to “old age fog,” momentarily forgetting where he was headed.

Many people have whispered, “Maybe it’s time to let him go.” But when I watch his steady, rhythmic breathing, and when I feel him lean his nose into my palm for a stroke, I know Luzi still wants to stay. He is fighting time itself just to be by my side for one more day, one more hour. And I? I treasure every one of those breaths like a rare jewel.

4. A Birthday Wish for an Old Soul

Today, there are no games of fetch, no long runs through the park. Luzi’s 23rd birthday is simple: a bowl of food that’s a little tastier than usual, a warmer corner to nap in, and the tender touch of my hand on his head.

Happy Birthday, Luzi—my old warrior. Thank you for giving me the entirety of your one and only life. Thank you for teaching me the meaning of unconditional love, the depth of patience, and the art of cherishing the present moment.

No matter how much longer this journey lasts, I promise to be your eyes when the world goes dark, your ears when the world goes quiet, and the strength beneath your paws until the very end.

“A dog is not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.” — Roger Caras