It’s been six months since I lost Lucy. I like to believe she’s patiently waiting at the gates of heaven — ready for the reunion when I meet her again one day.
I still think about this sweet and faithful companion every single day. If you’ve ever had a dog who you loved, you’ll understand.
When I put the key into my front door when I return home each day, part of me still waits to hear the sound of her tail hitting the door as she realizes I’ve returned.
When I get up in the morning, part of me still feels compelled to get her leash and take her for the first walk of the day — something she loved so much. At night, part of me wants to take her for one last walk before bed, because each walk made her so happy.
But I can’t do those things, because the World’s Happiest Dog isn’t here anymore.

The child in me never learned to feel at home as part of a group
Indianapolis talk radio interviews me about Ronnie Bryant story
Why can it feel strange to lose homes we haven’t seen for years?
I don’t know how to amuse you into taking your future seriously
When it comes to ideas, should we prefer complexity or simplicity?
What’s the difference between a cop and an actual peace officer?
For rest of my life, I’ll constantly re-interpret mother I didn’t know
So you’ve rescued dogs and cats, but how about a baby elephant?