A letter to my son

I walked my dogs every night of virtually every day that I lived in my parent's house. My father moved out and I still walked the dogs. I would come home late, having spent my evening drinking too much with friends or doing something inconsequential and inane, and I would walk my dogs. It was the world to them. I was their savior. I grew older, one of my dogs died, I eventually married and moved out. I received a call one day from my mother, saying that I needed to take our other dog to the vet and have him put down because he was too old and in pain from cancer. I remember how his body grew limp as I held him on the vet's exam table. I remember wondering if that really was the right thing to do. I remember feeling like I had deserted him. If you have dogs to walk, they need to be walked, even when it's not convenient.