A week ago, I let my 14-year-old dog Kilgore out the back door as usual, but as I watched him walk away I had this weird twinge in my chest. A few minutes later, when he wasn’t back at the door waiting to be let in, that twinge grew into dread and I knew. My dog had gone outside to die. And my heart broke right there, standing at the kitchen door.
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I drove home with this tiny, 9-pound puppy on my lap on a sunny Florida Monday back in 2002. We had selected him out of a pretty large litter because of the look he gave us that said “Hey there, you’re my humans.” Continue reading “The thing about dogs”
40 is the New F Word 