Everyone has a sad story. Growing up in my family, we all received adequate sympathy for our sad stories but not without a healthy dose of reality. If something happened to one of us and another chimed in with an additional unfortunate scenario, my aunt would say, "Oh..your DOG'S BIGGER, ISN'T it?"
I never really understood why a larger dog meant a sadder story, particularly because large dogs seem much more equipped to exist in the world. Those small, rat-like creatures seem doomed from the get-go. Especially in Chicago, where I have to literally WORK at not stepping on them. Sorry PETA. Those dogs have a more expensive wardrobe than I do. When I see them, I'm stepping on them. Accidentally. Probably.
Either way, what I think she meant was, "Save it. Everyone has a sad story."
The husband and I have certainly received our share of bad news this year. It wasn't easy. Like, German shepherd not easy. But we're getting on with it. Because compared to a lot of people, its not even a chihuahua.
Last night, we met after work for a real, old-fashioned, sturdy Chicago dinner. Italian restaurant with a piano, a little brown liquor even before a glance at the menu, the kind of conversation we had at the beginning. Before the large dogs.
If we're lucky, we have a long road ahead. I suspect it will be full of sad stories. And Italian restaurants. The plan? No plan. Embrace your normal. And stop putting clothing on your dog.
Seriously, stop it.
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