The first Christmas after my dog died was one of the saddest of my life. Reno became my dog when he was six weeks old. We drove from Connecticut to New York to pick the puppy up. He was supposed to be a mini-Shi Tzu but grew into a fourteen-pound dog. My husband called him “the jumbo shrimp.” After sixteen years, Reno died in the spring. My heart broke. With effort, I got myself together. Then, months later, the winter holidays came. My heart broke again. Memories of the hours spent being with my boy flooded my psyche. That crazy dog loved Christmas. We had a special Christmas ball that we would play with while we decorated. He sat with us while we drank eggnog and watched the…
I write so I can breathe