It used to be that when Nori ate she would clean up after herself, eating every last bit of kibble that fell onto the floor around the bowl. Now she gorges on her food in a feeding frenzy, leaving moist half eaten chunks strewn across the full length of the kitchen.
It used to be that when Nori drank she took delicate, easily manageable sips of water. Now she places her nose fully in the water bowl, not only gulping but inhaling water with all of her face, dripping food and water wherever it is that her beautiful muzzle ventures afterwards.
It used to be that when we took Nori for a walk she would heed our commands at least half of the time -- an amazing feat for a puppy only three months of age. Now she does anything and everything to avoid returning to us when called, including rolling on to her back in order to render herself completely immobile, usually resting herself in mud, cigarettes, or her personal favourite: fresh feces that steams in the cool winter air.
It used to be that when we brought Nori to visit my parents their nicknames for her were limited to "cutie" and "sweetie." Now my father refers to her only as "the terrorist," one glance at their backyard revealing the name's origin.
It used to be that we thought "Nori" was a good name for our dog. Now a few other names come to mind.
Be not misled, as this all matters naught, for she remains: the most beautiful lady, ever.