Tomorrow my dog, my father’s and brothers’ dog, will pass, and enter the tense past. And by pass I mean a man will come to my father’s house and deliver her a lethal solution through a syringe. Euthanasia. She will feel no pain, and she will let loose the pain building in her worn hips that have now made it near impossible to walk. The man will be paid and he will give instructions and recommendations for the body. My father will bury her in the backyard, despite city regulations.

Her name is Pepper, and Pepper tonight makes me think of death, of sentimentality.

This is the sort of lesson we say dogs are to deliver, or pets for that matter, to children. To teach responsibility, and to perform the suffering of tragedy, for the pet is not intended to outlive the child.

It is never too late I think to learn something about death, or how we hold the past.