I’m putting Tristen to bed and he mentions “My birthday is soon. And I will be ten this year. You know what this means?”

I know, of course. He has had his heart set on a Old English Sheepdog since he was three.

And I have been promising for years to get him a pup when he is ten.

But my heart just winces at the thought of repeating what we just went through with our old sweet Katie.

So, I am honest with him. I explain his great grandpa Russ’ wisdom, imparted upon me by my father: “Well, you see Papa Ra’s dad always said ‘A man gets one good gun..'”

Tristen interrupts: “A gun?”

“Yes, remember that and this: ‘A man also gets one good woman and one good dog.’ Since I am a woman, I got four good men…”

“Who?”

“You, Seth, Isaac, & Marshall of course. But you see, you boys may never get another good dog. We have already had the best dog in the world.”

And then I let my mind wander. Tracing back to the awfully sad events of the day previous. And that sunny day that I first met Kate.

It was the summer of 2000 – when I was young, lost (as nearly all 20s some things are), and still going home to do my laundry. Kate had just appeared in the shade of my parents front lawn and made quick friends with not only the man painting their house, but the entire neighborhood.

Everyone loved her. She happily “Woo-ed” rather than barked. She greeted everyone with a wag of her tail and a smile. The ones she truly loved, she bowed her head and hugged.

She spent the summer there free as a dog could be. And also embedded herself so deeply our into our hearts that I ended up begging the big wild boys’ dad to let me bring her home.

He said yes. And she was with us ever since. Except for the trips she couldn’t go on and the days she indulged her wild, restlessness by traipsing off leash and running away.

The downside to being owned by Kate was accepting the fact I had to worry endlessly when she went off and have faith that when she returned stinky, muddy, and exhausted, I could be relieved until the next time.

And time…my goodness we had so much time. That steadfast yellow dog saw me through break ups, make ups, moves, deaths, jobs, marriages, friendships, adventure, the agony of a divorce, and the delicacy of Marshall’s pregnancy and birth.

And she was here even when I didn’t know if either of them would be together for this picture (yes, I was crying my eyes out when I took it):

That is a big thing. I can’t find words to describe the moments when I presented my newborn babies to my best friend after bringing them home for the first time. Remembering her gentle response – a deep sniff and a nap -makes me smile through the tears.

Then two of the boys tested for allergies to dogs. The doc recommended a no pets household. I told them they had to go or live with the sniffles because I had loved Katie longer ;-).

The years passed in the blink of an eye. Three summers ago she took her last run. I thought for sure she was going to do what old dogs did. For hours I wondered if she’d come back and offered the universe a silent request that she come back.

Thankfully she did.

On my birthday that Fall, I found out she had cancer. I couldn’t imagine losing her to something that evil.

But she kept going. She moved a little slower. She woo-ed a little less. She took less interest in going for walks.

But she was stoic. And strong despite all she was fighting.

Then crippling arthritis settled in fast and claimed her back right leg.

Her appetite, once strong enough to stand near the table during mealtimes to woo demands for scraps, diminished.

And then she had a couple of spells which our lady at the vet (who reassuringly calmed me with each tearful call I made on Kate’s behalf) believed were ministrokes. Or small heart attacks.

We tried medicine to alleviate what she was going through. It helped for a few months.

And then Saturday happened.

And she, in her human equivalent of nearly 119 years young, let me know it was time for her to run free.

I don’t have the words to convey what a bittersweet experience it was to hold her and see her go.

We had such a great run.

I am supremely thankful with every bit of my soul.

So how in the world can I justify being so sad?