The triathlon in Wisconsin went fine.
On my way home, my wife buzzed my cell, and she gave me the bad news that my older dog, Jake, had died during the night.
Jake came from the pound.
Half Huskie, Half Rottweiler.
No one pushed him around.
You could try to push him,
But he was like a tree, rooted to the ground.
Yeah, I miss him.
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