I never planned to. Never wanted to. It seemed like an ordinary day. The Queen (May She Live Forever) was cooking a turkey. I was working. The kids were playing. The dog was missing.

The kids checked the closets and the immediate neighborhood without success. I joined in the hunt once I finished working. The dog has escaped the yard a few times but had never been gone for this long so we were a little concerned.

We brought Frodo home in December of 2001. He was a small dog, probably a Chihuahua/Schnauzer mix - mostly black with plenty of grey from his Schnauzer lineage. He had been abused in his early months and when we brought him home from the animal shelter, he was mangy, skinny and had a broken leg. But he never behaved like an abused animal. He was submissive but not overly so and truly loved being around people. He potty trained in a single week and was always well behaved, even when the kids were not.

He often sat in my lap as I worked, snoozing while I sorted out data and subroutines. He slept with the boys every night, played with the princess and spent countless hours camped at my wife's feet as she cooked in the kitchen.

While my lovely wife mashed the potatoes, I went out looking for the dog. I drove around the block a few times and looked in a few back yards but didn't see him. I went back home and finished carving the turkey. We ate the feast prepared by the Queen (MSLF) and suddenly it was Thanksgiving in July: turkey, mashed potatoes and real gravy. The only thing that was missing was the cranberry sauce...and the dog.

Once the meal was done and the table was cleaned, I was dealing with the turkey mess. The Queen (MSLF) took the kids out to look for the dog. They succeeded where I had failed and found him. My youngest son came running into the house screaming that they found the dog and that he was dead. My other son brought the small body into the house and handed it to me. The family gathered around and we all stood in silent shock.

Life is such a fragile thing and we tend to forget that, perhaps even intentionally, until death shows up in person and reminds us once again. There we were, kneeling in the family room, the dog lying in my arms, and five hearts and minds just willing him to be alive. After a short time of shock and tears, we moved to the backyard. We talked about how much we loved the dog and how much we would miss him. Then we picked a burial spot and I went and got the shovel.

It was almost a surreal experience, digging the final resting place for our pet. It was hot and I was drenched with sweat by the time I was finished. Everyone touched him for the last time and stepped back. Ten cheeks were moistened with fresh tears as I placed his small body in the bottom of the grave. He almost looked alive. He almost felt alive and his fur was still so soft from the last haircut I gave him a week ago. His last haircut.

As I started to cover him with the Texas clay, my younger son cried out and reached in to uncover part of him. I stopped for a moment but he abandoned the effort and closed his eyes and cried. It was silent as I finished the job and placed the sod back over the grave, but not for long. My little princess, just 5 years old, broke down crying and saying how sad it was that she was not going to be able to play with Frodo any more. The rest of the evening was spent in a fog, trying to get the necessary work done, trying not to think about the loss.

I think it is good for the kids to experience an event like this. Not that I would ever choose for them to suffer this kind of loss, but there are important lessons which are learned through death. Life is not only about joy and pleasure, it is also about pain and loss. My boys and I were talking about the fact that you cannot have life without death. Every animal requires plant or animal matter to survive. Every seed depends on organic matter in the soil and upon dying itself.

Jesus said that unless a seed falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. (John 12:24) He is teaching by parable, using a truth from real life to express a corresponding spiritual truth. The spiritual truth he was conveying is similar, that we must die to ourselves and our sin nature in order to live spiritually. Life and death are so closely intertwined and death events always send my thoughts back to the garden, trying to conceive of a world where there was no death. (But I just can't picture it.)

Death is so painful and final, and it breaks my heart to see my kids processing it. Yet, it is somehow comforting to see that they understand that life is not just computer games and Barbie Swan Lake and baseball and bike riding.

Through the course of the evening they all continued to bring up memories about their dog. Sometimes a funny story was recounted and we would laugh, although we always managed to end up in tears. Death is so difficult because it is so final, and that is why the memories are so painful while our sense of loss is so strong. I told the kids that the biggest comfort was that these memories which cause so much pain today are the very things that will become so dear later on.

This morning, I woke up and headed down the hall to the living room. As I passed the boys room, there was no stirring. The cold nose that usually tortures my bare legs each morning was absent. I did not hear the click of little nails on the ceramic tile as I passed through the kitchen, and as I sat down on the couch for my morning study time the furry body that always hit my lap before I touched cushions never came. Instead of him playing the role of a distraction, his absence took his place.

I guess I never planned on writing a eulogy this morning either. But I don't think you ever do.