This morning, as I was pulling out of my driveway, our next-door-neighbor-that-we-like waved me to a stop.
"I haven't seen either of you for a few days, but I wanted to let you know . . . "
[dang, I thought, Penny's been barking and got the animal cops called on her again, or Sam broke out of the pen again . . .]
" . . . we had to put Molly down."
Molly was the next-door-dog-that-we-liked, an old golden retriever who would slooowly come out into the yard a few times a day, and if we were outside, she would come over to the fence and Sam and Penny would bark wildly at her, like she was the cool-older-kid-next-door, and we would pet her through the fence. She never barked, she just looked at you with her great big golden retriever eyes, and you couldn't help but like her.
So Becky and I stood outside in the cold, both of us tearing up over Molly, and when I drove away for work, I had to do some serious blinking and gulping, and was very thankful for my new Maybeline waterproof mascara.
It's been many months ago that our very good friends had to put their little Alice down, and I remember tearing up over that, too. This is an event that I've never had to endure, and boy, am I hoping for a miracle that lets me never go through it. These silly animals, that come into our lives, and pee and poop and puke on stuff, and eat our books, and lick our chins and never once care that we need to lose some weight or that we lost our temper over something silly the other day . . . what would we do without them?
Man, I need some Friday fripperies soon.