It was a good day until the phone call in the evening. My little granddog, Lulu, sixteen years old, had to be "put down," as the ugly saying goes. I prefer the old-fashioned "put to sleep," a gentler description for a gentle little dog. Lulu was a cockapoo, very pretty, with a blond coat and sweetly affectionate personality. She was one of the few dogs I ever liked. What a hole she'll leave in our lives! I know it had to be--she was getting so feeble she could barely walk--but it's a cruel loss to my family.
Earlier, I was able to write two versions of a new play called Telephone for Players & Playwrights submission. They were inspired by an old crank telephone hanging on the wall of someone I know. That took most of the day and I still have to sharpen them up a bit.
In between plays, I drove here and there in search of a kitchen timer. I want to it be the ring of the old telephone in the plays, so it has to be more than just one ring. Didn't find one and when I came out of a store, I noticed a rear tire was going flat. I almost panicked; I've never been attuned to anything mechanical, as they all seem impossibly complicated and unknowable to me. However, I was able to get to B.J.'s where a very nice young man patched the tire (he showed me the culprit, a piece of metal) for only a small charge. Got the rest of my errands done and went home relieved and happy--
--until the phone call about poor Lu.
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