My post is late this morning because I had to drive Mathilde, our old barn dog, to the vet and have her put down. She was a Great Pyrenees (i.e., a dog version of the abominable snowman) and 15 years old, which is about three times as long as the breed's usual life span. Although she was very sweet-tempered and affectionate, she was also singularly boneheaded. She would trip over an idea--say, "gotta dig a hole gotta dig a hole gotta dig a hole"--and for five or six days nothing would turn her from it. Even though, at age 15, she was now toothless, half-blind, three-quarters deaf, and afflicted with a permanent case of the staggers, she continued to believe that every half-assed notion in her head was the best plan ever. So two nights ago, with her usual obstinate verve, she had a burst of energy, decided to bust down the gate in the middle of the night, and thus spent several hours sprawled on the ice in the driveway. Tom found her in the morning and we brought her straight into the house, but she never really recovered from her dumb adventure.

Poor old girl.