Today is a very depressing day. One year ago this afternoon, I had to put to sleep my beloved Woodstock who was suffering from paralysis due to severe arthritis and bone cancer. He had come into my house exactly nine years earlier as a rescue from a neglectful family. Woody loved life despite the first eighteen months of his existence being spent in a small cage under someone's front porch. Even on his way to Rainbow Bridge, as Dr. Crum was putting him to sleep permanently, Woody licked may arm furiously to tell me everything would be all right. He's no longer with me, but he's not forgotten.
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