Bobby was getting cold sitting out in his back yard in the snow.
Bobby didn't wear boots; he didn't own any and he didn't like
them anyway. The thin sneakers he wore had a few holes in
them and they did a poor job of keeping out the cold.
Shirley Medlin Pace @1960sparkey
My only child, Mike, was killed in a hunting accident at the age of twenty-three,
November 26, 1983, two days after Thanksgiving. I wanted to die. Death
snatches your joy and happiness. Death fills every waking moment and
becomes your bedfellow at night. In the end, love wins and life goes on.
From the Book I am writing The House That Mike Built.
Sam was twelve years old, part German Shepherd and part Lab.
He passed away years ago after getting sick on Christmas Eve.
We took him to an emergency animal hospital and had to leave him.
Christmas night about six o'clock in the evening, we called to see
if he was well enough to come home.