Sometimes big things go on in your life that you decide should not be discussed at large on your public blog, and so, as a result, you find that you must instead blog about the smaller, more meaningless, and sometimes trivial aspects of your life instead.
Which is my long-winded way of apologizing for being boring.
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About a week ago I visited a pet cemetery for an article I'm writing. Not some off-the-side-of-the-road little shrine where people furtively bury their pets by torchlight at night. No, a fully fledged plot for our creature companions with headstones and flowers and a lovingly tended lawn. People who love pets too much often get a bad rap. Anyone who does more than feed, shelter and walk their animal risks the chance of falling into the category of "eccentric" and possibly even "crazy." And like anything, there are certainly people who take it farther than the rest of us (doggie hotels; acupuncture treatments; gourmet meals). But what I've learned through the loss of some beloved pets myself, one still fresh in my heart, is that the heart does not differentiate between love for a human and love for an animal. And if a person is lonely and finds solace in a dog or a cat, or even a ferret, for that matter, should we begrudge them this source of comfort? I don't think so. Not at all.