tragedy.

Life is full of just flat-out sad things, isn't it?

I got a little emotional reading this post.

And I got to thinking.

That sometimes, life is just sad.

And that's okay.

It's just life.

But that doesn't make it easy.

I was thinking about this woman and her ability to blog so honestly about her triumph over tragedy.

And even though it cannot possibly compare, my family is experiencing some sadness tonight.

A while ago, in another life, it almost seems (things do change so very fast), my family was praying for a dog we thought wouldn't get well.

And then she did. Kind of.

We were all happy. Even me.

But, before we really realized it, something not-so-good was happening to our other dog.

It's called old age, I think.

But man, doesn't it sneak up on you?

It reminds me of this one time

At Faulkner

When Jordan and I would visit a woman named Nina

And Nina was getting old.

Was old.

And we would sit and talk and laugh and share.

When one day, she looked at us, and said:

"I don't feel old."

And I thought I would cry right there.

One day, I will be old.

But will I feel like it?

Well, I just guess not.

Because, like Nina told us that day, you're still the same person.

That's really what she said.

"I'm still me. I think I can do the things I used to, but I just can't anymore."

Oh, the tears.

I saved them and cried them later.

Because, even at 21, I realized...

We all get old.

Even dogs who have been in the family for 14 years.

Oh my goodness.

That is a long time.

See, back when I was in 3rd grade, we finally got a dog.

A wiener dog.

(I hate when people say that, but if I say dachshund, you won't know what I mean.)

His name was weird. Like Rockwell of Trier or something.

A crazy name for a dog with the new last name of Butterworth.

So, brother and I named it.

After our favorite show.

Wishbone.

(Such a classic. Where did it go?)

And that dog was crazy.

He'd run around the house like a madman.

Sing along when I played the piano.

Follow my dad like he was the best thing since sliced bread.

And of course, he bonded with my brother.

Most dogs do.

But you know what? I think he even liked me.

We'd sit together and read.

He'd curl up like a cat, only better.

(I kind of hate cats.)

And good grief, that dog has just been around forever.

So when he went blind, I don't think we really noticed.

And when he went deaf, we just shrugged.

Our poor, pitiful Wishbone.

Getting older.

But lately...

Wishbone just really isn't the same.

And my parents had to make a tough decision

That truthfully, I don't like talking about.

(Thank goodness they're better grown-ups than I am.)

But it just boils down to this:

On Saturday, I will go to a funeral for our dog.

And I used to kind of snicker at people who did this sort of thing

I mean, really.

A dog?

But oh man. He's just more than that.

He's family.

And... I'm crying as I write this:

He's our childhood.

I'm probably being dramatic.

But that's what it feels like.

Just proves what Nina told me almost three years ago.

We all get old.

But we're still the same inside.

And Wishbone, I think deep down

He wants to run around the house

And sing with the piano

And follow Dad around at breakfast

But he can't do those things

Not here.

Not anymore.

So I think, even though I hate it,

That my parents are doing the right thing.

And you know what?

I watched this movie once

Called "All Dogs Go to Heaven"

And I kind of hate that movie

It scared me, but I can't remember why.

But anyway, I don't really care what theologians in the world might say

I think that movie (or at least the title) might be true.

So there.