I haven't mentioned it here because I thought there was a chance it might not happen.

Tomorrow my parents are going to take my dog, the dog I was given by my paternal grandparents 15 years ago(one year before the death of my Grandmother), and put him to sleep.

I'm devastated. Whenever I go home, he seems fine. Old, but fine.

I have more memories of Corduroy (named like the bear in this children's book) than I do of most people. And I know I've forgotten more events than I remember.

He was there for me through the death of my Grandmother, troubles in high school and college, and I always enjoyed coming home to see him.

Tomorrow is going to be a tough day.