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On Wednesday I had to put my dog down. While I called him "puppy" (not his actual name, just a nickname), he was an old dog, somewhere around fifteen years old. But he was a small dog, a Maltese. He still looked like a puppy. I had him since he was almost a year old and I got him when I was still a youth.

For anyone who has had to make that choice knows how hard and painful it is. I've been feeling out of it and depressed. So much of my day involved that dog that it is hard not to think of him constantly. I can even detect his scent around the house and I mistake movement and noises for him. I've been doing about anything I can not to think too hard on it else I'll start crying again. It hasn't been easy to distract myself.

I miss him a great deal. Things won't ever be the same. This house is empty.