My mom sent me an e-mail today saying that she’s putting our dog to sleep. He’s seventeen years old, and has had a remarkably good run, but it’s time. He’s in pain and he’s mostly deaf and blind. Still, it’s extraordinarily difficult. We’ve had him since I was six, and he’s just the sweetest dog. Truly. One of my dad’s friends came up to stay with us while she had chemotherapy, and when she got back from her treatments, she’d collapse onto her bed and he’d lay with her for as long as she needed. She called Tucker ‘the therapy dog,’ and that seems about right. That seems right.

It’s strange–I’ve been waiting for this for several years now, but there’s just no preparing for it. So this is it.

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