Yesterday, our family dog died.
We got Wicket when I was about 19. He was the sweetest puppy you could possibly imagine, and even resembled his namesake in puppyhood.
When Favorite and I got married, I was so upset about leaving Wicket at my Mom and Dad's that Favorite bought Barky. That's how I ended up with my very own tiny shih tzu.
Of course, tiny has always been a joke. Wicket wasn't supposed to be over 10 lbs. So when he reached his massive 20 lb state, we were a little shocked that our "tiny, little shih tzu" might have actually been a giant.
He died in my dad's arms yesterday. And while I'm really sad that it was time for Wicket to leave, I just can't help asking: when do cycles like this end?