Two Puppies

On my walk tonight, I thought about how if I move back to the US this summer, I'll get a dog. A puppy. I'll rescue it from some kennel or puppy pound or something. It'll be small and calm. A little guy who could go on a plane with me, if need be, under the seat in front of me. Never in cargo. We'll go for long adventure walks around my new city and establish a good routine and talk to each other in the evenings. Then, of course, I thought about how sad it'll be when my new puppy eventually dies. It'll be torture. My eyes welled up a little at the thought. And if that puppy lives to be 15, I'll be 50 when it dies. I'll be sad and won't be able to have another puppy around for a while, but eventually I'll probably get another puppy. And if that puppy also lives to be 15, I'll be about 70 when it dies. And then I probably shouldn't get any more puppies because who will take care of them when I die? I've really only got two more puppy lives in me. That's not very many.