For anyone who’s ever made the trip, I’m sorry. It’s horrible, horrendous, and awful. It’s the ride to the vet to say goodbye to a family member. Earlier this week, our family had to put our dog, Gertrude, down. She was getting up there in years and was in failing health. We knew it was the right thing to do, but I can also tell you it doesn’t make it any easier. But our pups are amazing, aren’t they. Gert had been to the vet plenty of times and none of them were a good time. She hated it. She would whine and shake and attach herself to my hip until we got the hell out of there. I expected this trip would be even worse. Dogs seem have a sense about these things. Instead, there was no shaking. There was no whining. There was, however, a proud walk. There was – just before the moment of truth – a gentle lick on the cheek for both me and my wife – as if to tell us it was OK and she was ready. She was trying to be a comfort. We were crying and hugging her and she was more concerned in letting us know everything was going to be OK. I’ll never forget that and we’ll never forget you, Gert. We miss you. So long, pal.