Yesterday morning I received an email from my father, one of the first containing actual words from him since my birthday in June (which was the first contact since February). The email was to let me know that Pepper, our family blue heeler that I had essentially grown up with, was put to sleep that morning.
Last evening, as I was returning from a home visit with one of my clients in the shelter's Avalanche, I was pulling into the transitional apartment parking lot (where we keep the truck to avoid scratches and the like when parked in front of the shelter) when I heard a very audible scraping noise. Not only did I completely destroy two of the panels on the truck, but I took out the intercom used to open the gate to the transitional parking lot.
All I need is my wife to leave me, and then I'm a true blue country song. That would be kind of amusing if it weren't so sad.
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