RIP Betsy

Losing a dog always hurts, especially when it’s your first dog.

Rosie was my first. An Irish setter cross, she was big and black, terrified of thunder, and addicted to garbage. She died when I was in junior high. Dad told me she’d been hit by a car.

It wasn’t until years later that he told me the truth. She had been kicked to death by our next-door neighbor Mr. Ruschmeier, who caught her doing her business in his yard.

My folks feared that had I known the truth at the time I would have sought some sort of retribution. They were probably right. I loved that dog.

I had never liked Mr. Ruschmeier...