Advice from a Small Town Girl

I really don't want to write this particular column.

As much as I don't want to, however, since I'm in the habit of over-sharing, I will.

Thursday evening, just as we were all getting ready for Deutschesfest, my sweet, crazy, irrepressible pup, who was "helping" my husband farm, ran in front of an oncoming vehicle.

As in the case of most such collisions, the vehicle won.

And Jackson, "Action Jackson" as I had taken to calling him, is no more.

My heart is broken.

My husband's heart is broken.

Even the cats, who pretended to hate the puppy, seem to be just a tiny bit heartbroken. It's hard to te...