Preparing for marriage is hard.

There… I said it.  Step one, right?

I’m not just talking about figuring out reception seating arrangements and hoping for clear skies for our outdoor ceremony.  I’m also talking about the actual preparation going on between me and my bride-to-be.  I struggle with treating her like some kind of object that I need to fulfill my needs.  I’ve struggled with that for as long as I can remember.

I can easily recall my single days and the constant voice in the back of my head that kept reminding me that if I were to find someone, I would be completely happy and fulfilled.  Instead of digging deeper into that feeling of incompleteness, I could go on with my day and feel like I had figured out the answer.  All I needed was another person.  It doesn’t take too much probing to realize that I was not looking for a future wife… I was looking for an object.  A product that could magically take care of all of my needs.

I still struggle with that approach to life - both with my fiance and pretty much everything else.  My friends, my job, my possessions - pretty much everything in my life that at one time or another I have appreciated solely for the fulfillment that they bring me.  Specifically with me, this objectifying manifests itself within my relationships with women.

It’s hard for me to come to grips with the fact that I so easily have objectified women in the past, and I’m sure that it is a struggle I will continue to have.  It’s a struggle that I have to acknowledge and steadfastly work against.  When I look at marriages that are ripped apart by infidelity, I wonder if it is because the marriage itself was created to fill a need.  I wonder if the marriage stopped providing that fulfillment - even temporarily.  It makes it so easy to justify searching elsewhere.

So the question is, what else could fill that emptiness?  What else could erase that void?

I heard a guy say last night that true happiness is found by looking within yourself.  I was not amused.  Yourself?  That is the exact kind of thinking that leads right back to objectifying your friends, your significant other, your job, or whatever else might provide the temporary satisfaction you need to function.  I don’t understand at all the thinking behind believing that if you think about and want fulfillment enough, it will magically happen.

But maybe I’m the crazy one.  Maybe I’m the only one that struggles with finding it easier to plug others into my life to give me the fulfillment I need.  Maybe it means I should be a politician.

The first wedding I can remember was for my dad’s cousin Ken and his wife Alice. I don’t remember much except the big wooden pews. There are some great pictures of me (the ring bearer) and the flower girl and a few stories of the echoing effect produced by farting on said big wooden pews, but those are mainly reserved for rehashing each year when we get together at Christmas.

Then there was my cousin Mary Ellen. I think I was in high school and I remember arguing with my mom about wearing shorts to the wedding. My mom, as usual, was probably right. I think my brother and I both wore shorts anyway, which surprisingly enough turned out not to be a big deal.

I remember Sally Spencer, a friend from high school, getting married while I was in college. I made it back and felt a little out of place because it was the first time I was giving a card to a newly married couple and I had no idea what to write. I imagined them reading my well thought out nugget of wisdom and forever changing their outlook on life. Instead, I got nervous and scribbled something about a path always rising to meet the sun shining on their backs and thought about not signing my name at all. I got a thank you card in the mail several weeks later with a note from Sally thanking me for coming and I just assumed she was moved beyond words by my card inscription. Looking back, it’s probably more likely that whatever I wrote was complete jiberish and unreadable.

Since college, I’ve had the chance to attend and participate in some amazing weddings. Geoff and Becca encouraging me to start the slow clap before her procession down the aisle will forever be one of the greatest memories and stories recorded in wedding lore. I remember saying to Geoff, “Wouldn’t it be awesome if right before Becca comes down the aisle, someone stands up and starts the slow clap, and then a few other people stand up and join in until the entire church is clapping like crazy?!” Next thing I know, Becca has completely bought into the idea and, well, there was no way of stopping it.

I’ve been lucky enough to stand up as a groomsmen for two brides - my friend Rachel and my cousin Melissa. It was tough to explain how I knew the groom when folks asked, but pretty cool at the same time. Rachel’s brother-in-law’s speech at the reception is seared into my brain. If you’re curious, you can ask me about it sometime.

Then there was Joel and Jen’s wedding, all located on the W family farm. There were moments when we worried about a runaway golf cart possibly killing attendees, but the entire event managed to go off without a single fatality! There was even karaoke with a version of “You Give Love a Bad Name” that pretty much rocked… mainly because Joel’s air guitar was so amazing it actually made grown men weep. If it was not Joel’s wedding, there is no doubt he could have taken any single woman in attendance for his own.

Since moving to Chicago, it seems like every other Saturday in the summer has been taken up by the celebration of nuptials. Each ceremony has so perfectly matched the couple - from outdoor weddings in the park with cornhole and volleyball to candle lit sanctuaries.

I think it was through a combination of all of these ceremonies that I began to truly understand the importance of marriage. Through a sacrificial submission to one another, two people stand in front of loved ones and express an emotion and commitment to one another that is the closest they will ever get to the love God has for us. In a fallen world that at times is overwhelmingly pessimistic, a man and woman decide to buck the trend and join together in a holy union that is only possible because of the death and resurrection of Christ.

The past couple of months have been heavy on my heart and soul. I’ve been wrestling with the idea of what it means to be one part of that union. What do I have to sacrifice? What do I have to gain? Will I ever be able to play Halo again? These are just a few of the questions that ran through my head.

But each time I would take these thoughts to God or to one of my close friends, I would hear the same things. My married guy friends confirmed that yes, you do sacrifice a lot. You probably will have to give up a large chunk of Halo time, they confessed. But they assured me that somehow it all is worth it.

So, being the mature person I am, I shake my head and give them a wink. I know what makes it worth it.

Apparently though, much to my surprise, it’s not just the sex that makes it worth it. I’m not sure what else it could be, but apparently there’s much more to experience.

That being said, what became so clear to me in the past couple of weeks was that I have found a person that I want to experience all of the new pieces of life that my friends referred to. I found the girl that I want to sacrifice for and love and even do her laundry (occasionally). So, on Sunday, after a walk through the park near my house, I asked Sarah to make that commitment to me. And she accepted.

This is a surreal feeling and the page is just starting to be turned. What awaits us in the coming months and years is completely unpredictable, but thankfully there are many who have gone ahead of us and seem to speak highly of the adventure.

Plus, she said we can register for a Wii. This girl is awesome.

So, when people say to you, “oh, don’t worry about that parking ticket… you have out-of-state plates so you’re fine,” what should your reply be?

- a) Hey!  Great point!  I’ll park wherever I want!
- b) Hmm… are you sure?  Is that some type of weird law in Chicago?
- c) Shut the freak up.  I screwed up, now I’m paying my ticket so the city doesn’t get ticked off a boot my car.

A couple of months ago, I would have probably started out at B, but soon landed on A.  It would save me money that I could spend on important things (like coffee and beer) and everybody knows what a pain it can be to park in this city.  I mean, it’s not like I’m parking in front of a hydrant or in a bus stop… just in a residential zones that get checked randomly.

Well, that’s before the city of Chicago came to the realization that this car with Ohio plates happened to accumulate a couple (or 6 or 7) tickets over the past three years.

Now, you have to understand, the city of Chicago is a greedy whore.  Apparently it is necessary to pay for our mayor to travel all over the world to scope out cities planning for the Olympics.  It’s also apparently necessary to pay the court clerk $125,000 a year and provide a “business analyst” that happens to drive her around.  I really would love to sit down with her and give her the overused line from Office Space, “So what is it exactly… that you say… you do here?”

So anyway, back to Chicago, the greedy whore.  Well, if Chicago sees a way to put a few bejamins in the bank account, there is no way the city is going to miss it.  So, if a well-meaning guy from Ohio happens to let a few tickets slip to the land of forgetfulness, Chicago likes to remind that guy that it never forgets a dolla.

So, Chicago came looking for its money.  I’m not exactly sure how much I owe, but it is definitely more than I wanted to spend at one time.  It’s my fault.  I was stupid.  I should have paid the tickets when they came through, but it just didn’t happen.  I’ll make a quick list of excuses…

- I was just getting on my feet and too poor
- They wouldn’t let me pay in “services rendered”
- They also wouldn’t take Schrute Bucks (or Stanley Nickels)
- I was morally opposed to the outrageous parking fines
- 2006 was the year I made a resolution not to pay parking tickets
- I forgot

The city decided today was the day to remind me that I owed money.  So now I feel kind of dumb… and irresponsible.  I’m not a big fan of letting crap like this happen, but I’ll live.

Maybe it is the inspiration I need to get back into the habit of using public transportation.

Regardless, the moral of the story is to give the city of Chicago all of your money.  You, in return, will get access to lots of parks filled with rude employees and roads with potholes that eat Vespas.

This message has been brought to you by the Chicago Tourism Commission.  If you’d like to help me support Chicago in its efforts to make loads of dough, please donate here (this isn’t a joke… this is really a lame solicitation).

Well folks, here it is. The introspective, reflective, cliché sap-fest of a list of lessons learned over the past year. It might be interesting to look at previous versions of this list to see if I’m still learning the same lessons over multiple years, but that would most likely be slightly depressing. That being said, I’ll pretend this is the first such list and deny any part in the creation of previous similar writings.

A serious relationship with a great girl who luckily doesn’t take me too seriously, my brother officially graduating from my alma mater, and a complete change in careers after almost two years at DePaul were probably the big three developments of 2007. While my brother’s graduation was expected, the other two were surprises to even me. Who knew a friendly dinner with a girl could turn into… well… something much bigger? I know she reads this blog and is going to tell me I’m a sappy nerd after reading this, but she’ll get over it. I’ve never been the quickest when it comes to reading signs of interest from the opposite sex, which I suppose could explain my struggles in sending appropriate signs as well. Sarah was no different. Our stories differ quite a bit, but suffice it to say, somewhere around early February I had a couple dates with the girl and realized she was interesting and laughed at my jokes. I was hooked.

Somewhere in the first half of 2007, I realized that my personal life wasn’t the only part of me that needed to stretch and grow. A conversation with the VP of my department at DePaul, where I was basically told the main reason I accepted the job and moved to Chicago was not really something he considered part of the long-term plan, had me casually glancing at the idealist.org job list. Before I knew it, I was wrapped up in an interview process and accepting an offer to head back into the non-profit world. The first few months had me questioning my decision to leave the friendly confines of a role I understood to find myself overwhelmed and underqualified. Somehow things have worked out and the moments of feeling overwhelmed come less frequently, but I can say that the move was a smart one. I do miss my admissions family and the always-entertaining conversations with high schoolers, but there’s a lot of growth and potential that are keeping me on track in my current role.

As for my brother, well, it’s pretty cool to watch a younger sibling walk across the same stage I did four years earlier. There were a few new faces, but it was great to catch up with faculty and staff and feel confident that my brother’s education was in good hands. I still didn’t know the words to the alma mater, but to see the whole day in a new light and spend it with my family was a welcome trip back to the Hill. Now in his first year of teaching, it’s going to be great watching him develop and adjust to adulthood.

Other lessons from 2007:

• If Jud tells me something is potent… say, his egg nog… I will listen to the guy and cap myself somewhere around the 2-3 cups range;
• Also - if Jud is bbqing, I’m there;
• One more about Jud - the guy is a safe bet when crazy things happen, like car windows falling into the door frame;
• Managing a rec league team takes up way too much time and causes a lot of stress;
• Adjusting plans to see Over the Rhine’s Christmas concert is always a good idea;
• Speaking of concerts - when your favorite band is doing a farewell tour, it’s OK to put out of a few extra bucks to see them from decent seats… even if they appear emotionally drained;
• One more about concerts - taking the chance that Ryan Adams is going to have a good show is worth it;
• Driving a couple of hours out of my way to play golf with my dad and brother is never a bad idea;
• Never turn down a free ticket to a baseball game;
• When a car starts making any noises that aren’t normal, get it looked at sooner rather than later;
• Always appreciate someone who buys Bell’s for you;
• Michigan has a few redeeming qualities;
• People come and go, so make sure to enjoy having them around while you can;
• Bickering and complaining doesn’t accomplish much;
• My church family is full of surprises and apparently knows how to put on a good potluck;
• Watching so many friends take on adulthood is… kind of cool… and makes me think I might have a shot… someday;
• <sap alert> Roadtrips are a lot cooler with a girl who falls asleep on your shoulder</sap alert>;
• If you have the chance to take a long weekend and get out of the city, do it;
• Leaving the city reminds you how much you miss stars;
• The American Girl store is a creepy, creepy place;
• When friends are in Chicago, make time for them;
• Always appreciate people who contribute greatly to your life and make sure they know it while you can;
• and… some people in Chicago take kickball way too seriously.

That’s it for 2007… I’m guessing 2008 will have some pretty great highlights. Here’s hoping I can remember some of these lessons over the next year.

It’s about this time every year that I get full use of the ability to roll my eyes that I perfected between the ages of 13 and yesterday. Much to the delight of my mom, no scenario was immune to the eye-rolling… birthday morning wake up calls, church gossip conversations at family events, conversations about the lack of girlfriend in my life… Needless to say, there were/are many opportunities to practice the perfect sarcastic non-verbal response championed by teenagers everywhere, and the next month just happens to be the height of eye roll opportunities.

Usually about a week or two after major retailers begin displaying their pumpkins and ghoulish costumes for the Halloween holiday, a sinister mid-level corporate manager sends memos written in puppy blood on tusks of endangered elephants and walruses to store managers throughout the country to begin slowly clearing an entire aisle in the back of the store in anticipation of a shipment that will be arriving in a week. That shipment? A harmless set of towels emblazoned with a smiling snowman and a few boxes of clear decoration lights.

Then comes day two… a box full of snow globes depicting harmless “winter scenes” and whimsical children against a backdrop of the city skyline. A few older church-lady-esque shoppers are seen visibly shaking their heads as they walk by the mostly empty aisle with distinct shades of red and green backing the empty shelves.

It’s day three that really sets the world into a tizzy, though. Day three is when the heavens open up and reindeer, Santa, penguins, and all the Christmas schwag that had been collecting dust in warehouses for the past four months descends upon local Targets, Walgreens, WalMarts, Menards, Bass Pro Shops, PetSmarts, and Victoria’s Secrets. Someone hastily e-mails Bill O’Reilly to let him know of this calculating and sinister plot that has been unveiled in the middle of their trip to find a five gallon drum of mayonnaise and a pair of super-husky pants for their six year old at their local WalMart, and soon the media machine that is Fox News declares the war on Christmas has entered a new year and that God is angry.

It’s a liberal plot to roll Christmas and Thanksgiving into one big holiday with none of the religious thought! It’s the next step in destroying all Christian holiday observances! This is opening the US to a Hitler/Stalin/insert horrible dictator here!

Really, Bill? If big box retailers are creating such an atrocity by allowing customers to purchase Christmas decorations and Christmas-themed candy before Thanksgiving, why not pull your book from their shelves, cutting off their ability to make a profit on your words of wisdom and insight?

And Bill, if you thought about Christmas as much as a big box retail chain, perhaps it is your heart that would grow and your faith that would find new depth.

But it’s more than just Bill… it’s every day normal Christians that buy into just enough of the corporate Christmas, but become disgusted when others buy into it just a little bit more. They write letters to the editor of local newspapers decrying the row of plastic evergreens that are now available at your local Home Depot, never mentioning the fact that they bought their husband’s Christmas present in May when they found it on sale.

It’s a good thing there’s nothing else in the news to report and that the biggest and most important talking point is the evil, watered-down, crafted by Satan himself message of “Happy Holidays.”

Meanwhile, the message of Christmas… the hope and joy and redemption found in a Savior… is lost amongst petty squabbling by “christians” more worried by the way the city square depicts a menorah next to the manger than their own belief and observance of the day itself.

When you allow others (read: big box retailers looking for the highest profit possible and public officials putting together holiday displays to make everyone feel welcome) to shape your belief in and observance of Christmas, you have much larger issues than the jack-o-lantern/turkey/snowman display at your local Target.

Besides, if this means we get to enjoy Great Lakes Winter Ale a little earlier, is there really any harm?

I don’t want to do two blog homages in a row, but I felt it fitting to honor the life of a great Ohioan who passed away recently. Since moving to Chicago, trips to his restaurant have become few and far between thanks to the abhorrent lack of his red with white trim sausage houses… his yellow signature glowing in the night, beckoning travelers and locals to grab a barstool and a cup of his freshly brewed coffee. What’s that you say? Biscuit or roll? Why, biscuit of course. A little honey would be just fine.

I had a chance to meet Bob Evans the summer before my senior year in high school. I was attending some summer camp at the University of Rio Grande near Gallipolis, OH, and Bob stopped by - wearing a cowboy hat and a Texas tie, of course - to share some stories from his early days as an entrepreneur. He told stories of getting into bar fights with Colonel Sanders (no joke) and talked a little about how ticked off he was with the direction his family took the restaurant chain after he retired. I know, you’re really jealous right now. All I wanted to do was thank him for his cinnamon hot cakes, which most likely were a creation inspired by all that is good in the world.

All that to say, Bob, you will be missed. Our encounter was brief, but you gave me an answer to the imposing group ice breaker question of “name 5 weird facts about yourself.” You also gave me a restaurant that I can take both my grandma and my girlfriend for a nice lunch, or an almost home-cooked dinner. When I’m back in southeast Ohio with my family and the question of where to grab a meal together comes up, they already know my answer thanks to your legacy, Bob. I hope God lets you open another restaurant in Heaven, because surely that is where your cinnamon hotcakes belong.

(this is what it will look like in Heaven when Bob is making me fresh cinnamon hotcakes)

My high school Advanced Bio teacher once told me that I had a “mind for science.” Regardless of the fact that I was carrying a B- in the class (and that was with Sally Spencer as my lab partner!), my teacher saw something in the way my mind worked that apparently translated to “Dave should be doing better in my class.” At least that’s how my parents interpreted the thoughtful comment.

I think I owe a lot of my fascination with science and the way the world works to a show on Nickelodeon in the mid to late 80’s. Before Bill Nye even thought about growing grass on a car, Mr. Wizard was showing me how to blow things up. That stunt of dropping candy into soda and making it erupt? Mr. Wizard probably discovered it first. He was that good. Sure, he would make the kids put on safety goggles so the exploding light bulb didn’t blind them all, but he was still cool - goggles and all!

Mr. Wizard, or Don Herbert, passed away yesterday from bone marrow cancer. He was 89. It can be tough to watch a childhood icon pass on, but Mr. Wizard will always have a special place in my heart.

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*cue music from The Natural (if it doesn’t give you goose bumps, check your pulse)
It’s that time of year, folks. The orange and blue shaded depression has almost completely worn off and the Cavs are doing a great job of building up the hope of fans across Ohio before their inevitable giant collapse. Instead, it’s time to turn your attention south to Winter Haven, Florida, where pitchers and catchers are reporting for the 1st day of Spring Training.

“The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh… people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.”

*Cue more goose bumps

I know, I do this every year. I follow off-season moves, track winter ball stats, check minor league numbers from previous years, and nod my head with the promises made by the front office and players every year. And every year, I end up disappointed. Even during the Indians’ dominance of the AL Central between 1995 and 2001, only twice did they make it to the Series - coming away empty handed both times (much like Charles Nagy did as the game-winning hit bounced off of his glove in Game 7 against the Marlins in 1997).

Still, I believe there is something special brewing in Cleveland, and it’s not just the beer. I feel like a stranger in a foreign land here in Chicago - knowing that I take my life into my own hands by wearing my Cleveland jersey to a game down on the south side. It’s like dangling a piece of meat in front of starving hyenas with smaller vocabularies and way too much beer.

I’ll still make it down to a game or two, but only because of lack of options. There’s a certain Tigers fan that’s worked her way into my life that I may have to stop talking to for a couple of months as well. All sacrifices I’m willing to make in the name of baseball. Pretty heroic, if you ask me.

About a year and a half ago when I was looking at potential places to take my wandering self, I thought I had an idea of what was going to be coming up next. The path was beginning to clear and visions of free grad school loomed on the horizon. I gladly told my family and friends about how simple moving to Chicago would be and imagined myself quickly settling into a comfortable life. Surely things would be easier considering I would earn about three times as much money and be able to say I was in a “career” and not just a “service opportunity.”

Then, reality began to unfold. Sallie Mae was happy to see me move out from the loan repayment protection AmeriCorps offered me, and wasted no time in tracking me down. All of the benefits of living simply began to disappear as I was confronted with the realities of being the “face” of a university. Apparently it means I have to wear a shirt and tie and shave every day. Students wouldn’t be interested if a slightly scruffy guy in a polo and khakis told them about their potential future. High school students are so demanding.

And the ironing… oh sweet, sweet ironing. My mom laughs at me when I complain about it, but ironing on a daily basis just wears on my soul.

I think what all of this means is that I’m starting to become an adult. I’ve been roaming around this planet for a quarter of a century, and I’m just now starting to understand the meaning of some pretty important concepts. My faith is maturing to the point where I can read an entire scripture and begin to grasp that my selfishness has allowed me to get by with a very partial theology. Life is so much easier when I can brush past the trivial drama and begin to see the beauty and intricacies in my interactions with friends and strangers and the way that God can use anything for His glory. The way we all interweave and grow is an astonishing concept, but is an opportunity for an amazing community to form. Thankfully I’ve tapped into a community of people here in Chicago that has covered me in grace and laughter and celebration.

Too bad they’re all Bulls fans. They’re going to have their hearts broken when LeBron and the Cavs exact a little revenge for 1989’s Game 5. “The Shot” will simply fade off into memory. Next up is repairing the Browns and making up for “The Drive.”

The summer after my freshman year in high school, a week before I left for my first summer of CYF Camp, the family loaded into the van and drove to the Stalters’ to look at a litter of puppies we had been told about.  The Stalter family owned a purebred cocker spaniel that had managed to get knocked up, and they were looking for families to unload some of the illegitimate mutts on.  There was no way to tell what kind of dog the father was due to the wide range of puppies we found, but we eventually decided on a black and brown puppy that looked like it could have been part beagle.  We weren’t able to take her home yet, but the sadness of leaving my first summer of CYF Camp was quickly soothed by the fact that I would finally get to see our new addition to the family.

We finally agreed that Maggie would be a good name for our new puppy, and we all fell in love.  For the most part, she was kept in the laundry room, which would help with the potty training due to the laminate floor.  As she became house trained, she was allowed a little more freedom, even spending the night in my bedroom.  Maggie and I grew pretty attached, and she spent most of my high school years snuggling up against me every night.  When I went away to college, my mom would often tell me about how she would spend a lot of nights cuddling up with Maggie and crying.  When I would come home, I always knew that I would be greeted by Maggie and most likely the excitement would be too much for her.  My family quickly realized that they would have to let her out of the house to prevent stains on the carpet when I came home.

Even in the past couple of years as old age and arthritis began to set in, Maggie would still be there to greet me when I came home.  I almost feel like she was putting up a front for me, trying to keep her pain hidden.  At some point, she developed a growth on her neck that the vet claimed was just a harmless fatty tumor.  Just looking at her and listening to her breathe, you could tell her body was failing her.  The last time I was home, she snuggled herself up against me and I knew that it was going to be one of the last moments I spent with her.

Maggie became a very protective dog, barking like crazy whenever people would visit; I think it was the cocker spaniel in her.  My friend Glen would come over and bark back, something that eventually won Maggie over as well.  Her protectiveness soared to new heights the times I had a girl visit, with very few winning Maggie’s friendship.  The friendship could be bought at a cheap cost though, as long as you were willing to give up your pizza crust or a few Fruit Loops.  I know you’re not supposed to give dogs table scraps, but how could you resist those big brown eyes?

There was the time that we decided that we would take her out to my grandparents’ farm to see if she really did have enough beagle in her to go rabbit hunting.  She disapeared after the first shot and the rest of the morning was spent hunting for Maggie.  We thought she was gone, until my dad found her huddled in a thick stack of thorns.  Anytime hunters fired a gun in the woods behind our house, Maggie would find some place to hide, usually under the bed in my room.  A couple of years ago she was outside when a couple of hunters spooked her.  She disappeared for almost a week, showing up at the front door covered in dirt one morning, which gave my mom a chance to call me and wake me up with some great news.

There are so many more memories, all of which are just a little too much to handle right now.  It’s completely amazing to me how close we can attach ourselves to our pets.  I’m flying back to Ohio on Thursday for a wedding, and I know that when I walk through the door, there won’t be a panting, peeing dog to greet me.  I won’t hear her bark when I pull in the front drive, and I won’t get a chance to rub her belly when I leave on Sunday.  If I decide to chip golf balls in the field, I know I won’t have a lazy dog following me around.  My dad told me that a different vet said it was the growth on her neck that did eventually lead to the decision to have her put to sleep.  I keep thinking of her laying on the vet’s table, with my dad there, helping to keep her calm and see her off, and that’s when my eyes start to well up.  I know I’m being selfish, but if she could have waited just one more week, I could have been there too.  She was in so much pain, I keep telling myself, it’s better that they did the procedure when they did, but I need to stop thinking about it right now.

Anyway, she may not have been the most beautiful dog in the world, but we loved her.