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Boy, it's about time I clean out my desk," I thought this morning, as I looked at all the mess that had accumulated over the last two years. Now that my book was about to come out, I thought this would be a good time to clean out and throw away some of the old stories about the orphanage. It seemed like a good time to try to start putting some of these sad feelings behind me.

I sat down and began to rummage through the large bottom drawer of my computer desk, when all of a sudden there it was right in front of me. I pressed my lips together and gave a little smile. Slowly, I reached down and picked up the small homemade plaque I had made several years back. It was an 8-inch by 6-inch piece of wood that I spray-painted white, with red and black stick-on plastic letters.

I will never forget that day for as long as I live. I have had many sad days during my lifetime, but never as a man, have I cried so many tears as I did the day I made that sign. I was tired, but stayed up all night long because she was about to give birth and I have to tell you that it was a rough night for her too. By morning, it was all over and she fell asleep for the first time in 48 hours. I was very exhausted myself, but I could not leave the room. She had stood beside me through four years of deep depression and I owed her a debt I thought I would never be able to repay.

Several hours later, I awoke and right away, I knew that something was not right. In a panic, I called the doctor, but he told me there was nothing that could be done. I sat down on the floor with my back against the wall and tears streamed from my eyes. I dialed the phone number where Judy worked and she answered.

I said, “Please don't say anything, just listen. I have to do it now and I do not think I can.”

The sorrow that I felt way down in my soul at that very moment was the most hurtful I ever felt as a man.

"Lady's puppy died, didn't it dad?" Judy asked.

I could not answer her, because the pain was so bad that my neck felt swollen. I just could not say the word "yes" to her.

"He was just too little to live, dad," she said in a whisper.

A cute little black and white, hair-lipped cocker spaniel puppy lay motionless in my hand.

"Please move," I said wiping my eyes.

However, it did not happen and I knew that it wouldn’t, so I went out to the shed and built a little wooden casket with a green felt lining, and I placed him in it. I took him to the flowerbed near the back door and found a special place for him to rest. Then I went back into the shed and made the plaque, which read, "TOO LITTLE - What fun we would have had. Dad."

As a writer, I think there is a story in here somewhere. However, I cannot be the one to write it, because it just hurts too badly.

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