My dad always said...

we couldn't get another dog because they die. I always wanted a dog when I was a kid, I really really wanted one. We had a dog, well actually, my parents had dogs, Tim & Cindy, when we moved into our house in Leucadia when I was about 18 months old. And eventually, as development started in the lot across the alley from my parent house Tim ran away or died or something, I don't really remember, but we still had Cindy, for a long time...and then she got old like dogs do and we had to put her to sleep, she had hip dysplasia, and I remember being young, feeling sad and crying in the bathroom. I wanted to have another dog. I asked for a dog all the time, and I always got the same response...but a dog of my own was something that I remember always wanting, no silly hamster, bird, or bunny would ever make me want a dog less, I really wanted a dog...and one day I got one.

I was living with my friends in the house on Freda Lane...Jesse had already gotten a dog for Jenn, Ginger, a brindle boxer puppy, and I so wanted a dog. Watching them care for Ginger, and some of the health issues she faced early on made my brain say NO WAY to getting a dog, too much to deal with, but we lived in this big house, with a yard, and I was young, and I so wanted a dog. I had gone with Jesse when he bought Ginger, and at that time, there was also a litter of fawn boxer puppies, still teeny tiny...I had said that I would go back for one when they were ready...but still my mind was saying NO WAY. And then one day I came across the number for the puppies, and I called, they were ready, and I hoped in my Buick Century painted primer gray with Jenn, and off we went to get a puppy.

He chose me, there were so many little puppies, and every single one was so cute, and so covered in fleas, and so needing a loving home...I was touching them all trying to make an educated decision, a good choice, and then this tiny little puppy, no bigger than my hand, climbed up this huge cement step in the backyard and pawed at me...saying, pick me, I will be a good boy...and that's how Scooby became my dog.

And now, my dog is an old man, and I am faced with the sadness that my dad was trying to warn me about, trying to save me from feeling...don't get a dog, they die. When he used to tell me this when I was a younger, I always had some smart ass remark back to him about kids dying and he had three of us...so what was his point. But now, I understand. I don't want my dog to die, I know that he will, because all things die, and I know that it will be OK, because everything always is OK...but I am still sad watching Scooby get old, knowing that soon he won't be with us anymore. He is a good dog and I love him so much...my little buddy scooby.