Glory, the black and white springer spaniel who lives at my house, turns 14 this week, which roughly translated means she’s as old as Methuselah.

Sadly, it’s beginning to show, too. She’s got gray hair on her face, particularly around her eyes. She no longer bounds up the stairs. She doesn’t like to take long walks anymore. She sleeps a lot.

It’s all understandable. In dog years, she’s nearly 100. It doesn’t make it any easier. She’s been a great companion, and it hurts to watch her get old.

But she showed me recently there’s still a lot of life in her old bones.

Late one evening, we went outside to tend to nature’s call. (Technically, Glory was the only one tending to nature’s call. I was walking around with a plastic bag picking it up.)

After taking care of business, we came back inside. I sat on the sofa and continued with a magazine article I had been reading. Glory curled up on the sofa next to me.

She didn’t stay there long, however. After just a few minutes, she jumped down. I didn’t pay much attention to her because she really wasn’t doing anything unusual.

But soon, it became obvious to me she was sniffing around the edges of the sofa, the end tables and the coffee table.

This wasn’t particularly strange behavior, either. Glory, like a lot of dogs, loves to smell things. And it wasn’t a bit out of the ordinary for her to sniff at something, then come back to it five or 10 minutes later because, obviously, the smell could have changed, and who in their right mind wants to miss out on that.

Soon, though, the sniffing noises became louder and louder.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Yes, I ask her questions. I don’t often get answers. She’s not much of a conversationalist.

I didn’t get an answer this time. She didn’t even raise her head from the sniffing to acknowledge the question. Then the sniffing turned into short, quiet growls.

The short, quiet growls turned into loud, mean-sounding growls.

“What are you doing?” I asked again.

The growling continued.

At this point, I was becoming concerned about her behavior. Glory has always been a mild-mannered, happy dog. With exception of the occasional squirrel, Glory hasn’t really growled — or even barked — at much in her whole life.

But the growling turned to barking. Loud, continuous barking.

“What is it, girl?” I asked.

I laughed at myself for asking this question. Like I’m supposed to tell from the tone of her bark what’s wrong.

It’s wasn’t like when Lassie ran up and barked at adults. They always could tell by the way Lassie barked whether Timmy had fallen down a well or had become trapped in a cave.

I couldn’t tell what was on Glory’s mind. So I guessed.

“You want to play?” I asked.

I picked up one of her tennis balls and threw it toward the dining room. She paid it no attention and continued to bark and growl at the sofa.

Suddenly, she began trying to crawl under the sofa, all the while still growling and barking.

I realized she must think something was under the sofa. So I got up and began to pull the sofa away from the wall.

And there it was.

On the wall, about six inches from the floor, was a tiny tree frog.

Glory attempted to lunge at the frog. I pulled her back, picked up the frog and took it outside, where I released it.

I came back in, sat back on the sofa and resumed my magazine article, happy in the knowledge that Glory still has some fight in her.

And happy that our house is safe from renegade tree frogs.

Mitch Clarke is executive editor of The Times. His column appears Sundays. Read previous columns at gainesvilletimes.com/mitch. Follow him on Twitter @MitchTimes.