What do you do when your mama calls you to say your puppy is not doing well and that it might be “time”? You drive over, play with the dogs and give copious amounts of love, tuck them into bed, then console each other over tea and brownies and typewriter *dings* and stories of youth and old age and living and dying. It never gets easier with our pets, does it? I think it’s harder to lose a pup than it is to lose a person. It’s the quiet way that they live and die and leave their pawprints on our hearts forever. Never asking for more than a scratch behind the ears and a full bowl of kibble. Forever loyal, eternally forgiving. There’s no kind of love quite like that.
