Had a pretty decent day.

Slept too long and woke up in a good, give-em-hell mood. Did the dishes, swept the kitchen floor and vacuumed the living room, all by ten am. Went to work and was friendly to all (Happy Chinese New Year), got a lot done and called the phone company, who were saints about the overly-overdue bills.

So I got home and my mom called.

Her voice was very soft and she said “We had to take Krissy up to the vet today. We put her down.” Isn’t it funny how these things broadside you? Krissy had been sick since last August and it seemed for a while there she was getting better. She was old. Fifteen to be precise. We got her for Christmas the year I was in second grade (I was eight, my sister was six and my brother was four) and named her Christmas (actually it was Christmas Socks)…Chrissy for short (turned into Krissy a long, long time ago). She was a complete surprise for us kids. We had wanted a puppy, since we already had my parents’ dog, Penny, a huge German Shepherd. She was so tiny and so fat she dragged her little puppy rolls around the floor when she chased us.

Somehow I think that I thought she would be around forever. I mean she was KRISSY, my family dog. I don’t think I remember a time we didn’t have her and it’s hard to think of my family’s house without her. My parents didn’t sit with her when they put her down…and I think that’s what hurts the most. That she had to die alone. But my mom swears she wasn’t scared.

And I want to believe her. I really do. But I would’ve sat right there with her. To make sure she wasn’t.

So pet your doggies tonight, lovies.

I know I will.

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