Very unspiritual, I thought but had sense enough not to say. I mean, really, all this drama over the death of dear old Fido or an ancient cat.
I grant myself credit for having a little sense and understanding that folks in their weak humanity can get attached to their pets, some even moreso than their family. After all, it is often said that unlike your spouse or kids, your dog is always happy to see you and your cat is at least consistently tolerant of you.
Then about 15 years ago we got a teacup yorkie, Tori, about five pounds of pooch and very cute. Yap, yap, yap.
The little canine was an inside pet, considerable trouble with that, who would make an occasional foray outside. Once, the idiot dog wandered down to the highway in front of my house, stood squarely on the center line and watched the traffic whiz by. Some kind soul observed that a cute little dog with a pink bow in her hair didn't belong there, retrieved her, and brought her up to the house.
Fifteen years is about the upper limit for this type dog and a short time ago was D-day for the beloved pooch. You know what the "D" is, I can't bring my gnarled fingers to type it.
Sure, the dog was almost blind, deaf, and couldn't smell much. She diddn't do much aside from sleep, whine, eat a little, and bump into walls and furniture. I thought about leaving the door to the basement steps open...just to see if...nah...can't do that.
So, off she went to the grand celestial place to join the great pets of the past. Some dogs I have known are surely in dog hades. Tori is assuredly in dog heaven. Boo hoo.
July was a rather sad month in several ways. We said goodbye to one child and famly, including a granddaughter who are eventually headed overseas. Another child off at seminary.
Rather quiet house.
Sometimes SBC politics isn't the most important thing going on.
So long, pooch.