The foreword in one of my all-time favorite books includes a section written by the author. He described his intent to avoid writing the book, but the concept, the need, the words grabbed him by the throat, marched him to his study, and plopped him down at the keyboard.

This, for me, is kinda the same thing.

See, one of our dogs, Sofie, passed away one year ago yesterday, and since I write these wayward ramblings on Thursdays, it was a year ago today. Sorry for the time travel.

Somehow, it takes me a year to address a pet's life in retrospect. Same applied to Sterling, our beautiful Russian blue cat who, one minute, was as graceful as Mikhail Baryshnikov and, the next, a member of the Keystone Kats.