During Laura's 28th birthday, Charlie's time with us ended tragically and very suddenly...

I had left our door open while baking the cake, and when Laura had gotten home from work, sweet Charlie had greeted her in his characteristic manner of assaulting her with dog kisses. Just seconds later, our neighbor came through our doorway holding dear Charlie's body in his arms, and delivering to us the difficult news.

Our dog had been hit.

Charlie, such a friendly boy, had apparently been trying to follow our neighbor to the store, but did not make it. We are told that it was over very quickly; someone driving a green Chevy Blazer, hauling ass down Fulton Avenue, didn't stop or even slow down for a second as they killed my dog.

Charlie was gone before our neighbor could run up the driveway and to our door with him. Devastated, we held an immediate wake for him, right there on the porch; whatever friends, family, and neighbors could be summoned on-the-spot gathered around to say good-bye.

We then took Charlie's remains to be laid to eternal rest. My family graciously allowed us to do this for him in their garden. We pray that he rest in peace as we all await the day that we might see him again on the other side.

Perhaps ironically, the cake that Charlie died for came out very well. I think that my brain used that cake to help me cope with the first few moments, by switching back and forth between baking and mourning. After the burial, frosting that cake became a sort of tribute. It may seem strange to some, but it was no longer just Laura's cake; now it was Charlie's, too.

The death of our beloved dog has left a hole in our hearts that will take quite some time to heal, and has revealed a cold place at the foot of our bed that we'd forgotten was there while he was around, keeping it warm.

I'm so sorry, Charlie...