From one of my favorite bloggers, James Lileks:
Wife took (the dog) for a walk later. He was slow. Very slow. "He's not going to be with us much longer," she said. Resigned. Then hopeful: "But I've been saying that for three years."
"Where did he take you tonight?"
"Well, I let him go where he wanted, and we went up the hill to the water tower, and then back down, and when we got home he didn't want to go up the steps so he went down the street, and I thought he would go up the back steps, but he looked at me, like 'I'm not done,' and we walked east and around the neighborhood again. But it was dark and he can't see anything."
"But he can smell."
Nearly deaf and nearly blind, and the world is still a story, every scent a character, every strong odor a twist in the plot. The dog walks outside and the world is his iPod, and it's always set on shuffle. So it is for us all, really. If you have a dog you know how they come to the door and stand there waiting for you to let them out. Standing at the glass door. The wall that keeps the odors out. They can see, but they can't smell. Daily life for us is just like that. If you're lucky someone opens the door and all the glories rush over you.