Time does not take them from us all at once. It softens them first. It grays the muzzle, slows the step, and deepens the eyes until they seem to carry every quiet morning and every loyal glance they ever gave us.
In the morning light at Fort Sofa, Mason still stands the watch. Not with the energy of youth, but with something steadier. Ownership earned over years of simply being there, faithful and loyal, each and every day.
Almost fifteen years is not just time. It is a life lived steadfast in one place, beside one person, in a way that turns an ordinary spot on the couch into something permanent and lasting.
Some forts are never meant to fall. Long live the boy dog, Mason.