As I start writing this, it’s either very late Saturday night or very early Sunday morning, depending on how you look at it. It’s 5 a.m. In 4.5 hours, I will have been awake for 24 hours (“spring ahead” was tonight, but I’ve lost all hours of sleep, apparently). I’m exhausted, but can’t sleep, so I’m here because this has been eating away at me all week and I need to write it out. Writing continues to be cheaper than therapy.
The oldest of our two dogs died on Tuesday. His name was Rocky and he was 11.5 years old. I’m having an embarrassing amount of trouble dealing with it. Just about 100 words into this, and I’m already crying my eyes out all over again. I feel silly, like I’m overreacting, but please keep reading and hopefully I’ll be articulate. This is a eulogy for Rocky, but it’s also something that will hopefully resonate with all pet lovers.
Frankasaurus. 