It's not a criticism, it's an observation.
Replay button equals fountain of youth
Mike Cox

Joe was the first great dog I had. Our family got him about the time I was born, and he was my companion, guardian, and playmate. Joe, an English setter, also doubled as Dad's bird dog.

My father was an avid quail hunter, and Joe was his prize hunting companion. My grandfather had trained Joe to hunt in the fields. He was an explosive little creature, so enjoyable to chase after.

I remember strapping my cap pistols on and following my dad into the fields each Saturday during the season. Joe was a natural and enjoyed tracking and pointing quail even better than wandering through the neighborhood with me.

Joe took afternoon naps in a blind spot in our driveway. Each evening my father would honk the horn, wait a bit, and then drive into the carport. One day, for some reason, Joe failed to move out of the way.

The car didn't kill Joe, but his back was messed up for the rest of his life. He wasn't able to run any more and spent most of his time either sleeping or hobbling to his food or water dish. One crisp winter morning my father carried Joe like a baby to the car and drove to the fields where we hunted.

This crippled old dog, barely able to move, came to life and hunted like a puppy for an hour or so when he recognized the scents of the quail and saw the fields. After he got back home, he was unable to move for several days. I thought he would die right there, but he survived for another year.

I noticed some similarities between Joe and my father after Dad retired and moved into his out- to- pasture stage. He was a slow moving old guy most of the time, content to play golf, piddle in his small garden, and check the mail on a daily basis.

Yet, there were times when something would trigger a memory from his past, and his eyes would light up, his step would quicken, and the years would disappear. I noticed this once at an Alabama pep rally when the Million Dollar Band played In the Mood, a Glenn Miller song from my dad's youth. He danced around the grass a little and was much more energetic for several days. I found out later that was the first song he heard after coming home from WWII.

He also changed when around old friends. As stories were told, all the faces seemed to lose their mileage, smiles were more frequent, and movements became less arthritic and more animated.

I've noticed this phenomenon in lots of places over the years; old guys hanging out at the mall checking out babes, former college roommates getting together infrequently, and reunions.

No one wants to be irrelevant. To go from young lion and primary breadwinner to old decrepit fossil is hard to take. Hitting the replay button seems to make the rest of the time a little more bearable.