If you've reached my age, you've most likely lost a pet at some point in your life. Maybe that "pet" was a pail of tadpoles you scooped out of the local drainage ditch or the praying mantis you collected in a shoe box and fed fresh grass clippings and crumpled leaves for half a day. Maybe it was the best pet in the history of man - a pony. Or the worst pet ever - the rabid raccoon living in your grandmother's potting shed. It doesn't matter. When it died, you cried.
|I have no jokes to add. This is a sad blog post. Have your hankies at the ready. Clean ones, preferably.|