We had to put our dog down today. Our little Italian greyhound, Dooty, was seventeen years old, and he had lived a full life. He was a sweet little dog, and he particularly gave my wife a lot of comfort and joy.
Ever since we got back from the vet, I have been weepy. I keep expecting him to chase me around the house, wagging his tail.
But he is not here anymore. Gulp.
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