More than that though, Mason became a real member of the family. In particular he was attached completely to Lyndsy. He dug a hole in the dirt under her window to sleep. He seemed to always know when she was out of town and when she was home. When she moved to college we all swore he needed large doses of Prozac.

Mason would scratch at the door with his paw in hopes to get us to open it and let him in for the night. He’d bounce a tennis ball on the trampoline, from underneath, with his nose. He seemed more cat than dog. Moody and personable. He was gentle and kind. And it was time for him to go. As sad as it has been – it was right and it was time.

That whole week proved to me that I am the least optimistic in our family. After explaining to Will & Walker about what was going to happen to Mason (in broad strokes), they immediately broke down. After a few moments of sobbing Will looked up and said, “Mom, we’ll see Mason again.”. “No sweetie, we won’t”, I replied. “Yes we will. He can bounce back down from Heaven to see us and then bounce back up again.” He turned to Walker, explained the situation, and within seconds they had wiped their tears and were back playing in the sandbox. When we came home from the vet, sans Mason, the boys tried desperately to buoy our spirits by saying Mason might be back anytime, just bouncing back down.

Yeah. I’m not buying that. (No offense boys…)

Eric also proved his optimism this past week with two words – Chicago Cubs. Because there is always next year.

Yeah, I’m not buying that.

So I find myself at the bottom of the optimistic ladder. See, for most of my days as a parent I’ve believed one thing – that at some point I’d have a good night’s sleep, in my bed. Maybe even alone.

Yeah, I’m not buying that.

Then again, every time the wind has blown this week I’ve looked over to see if it was Mason scratching at the door. Every single time.