The dog got sick as I sat down

Dear Delyara, I had the blanket over my legs, the house was briefly still, and for one fragile minute I thought the evening might soften before it became late. Then there was that horrible sound, and by the time I got to him it was done. It wasn’t the dog’s fault. It was just terrible timing. I cleaned the rug, checked the dog, changed the cloth, sprayed the room, and all the while I could feel that ridiculous hot little grief that comes from interrupted rest. Not because I had been enjoying something grand. Because I had been about to enjoy something small and badly needed. There are days when adulthood feels exactly like that — you finally sit, and something living needs you immediately.