I turned 50 this year, which makes me officially two years younger than DJ, the dog who came into my life when he was three-months-old. It isn't watching our dogs grow older that brands our heart with the stamp of melancholy; it's that we watch them grow older than us.
Since my open letter was posted, I've been called names. I've had hundreds of people tell me that I have no right to judge Cocoa's former owners because I don't know their story. I don't owe anyone an explanation or itemized list of how I'm helping the world but suffice to say I help the humans, too.