Over the course of my life, I have made this decision for many animals, and it never does get easier. I did write about it, once, in a chapter that ended up in Tracing Paradise. In that essay I tell the tale of having to ask my friend Steve to shoot my sick goat. And coincidentally or not? . . . Last night Steve and his wife Angela swept me off to their house for dinner so that we could all raise a glass to dear Anna. It is a privilege to have friends who understand the duty and the pain, but who can also summon the necessary joys of a wake.