It’s been a difficult week, to say the least.

I wore black to work on Monday and observed a day of mourning for the loss my Indianapolis Colts faced in Sunday’s Super Bowl. I’m still hanging my head in shame (which makes typing difficult). However, I was telling Clay all season long that if I could choose the two teams I wanted most to play in the Super Bowl, it would be the Colts and the Saints. I thought New Orleans would be the best competition for us.

I hate being right.

Having a perfect season would have at least made the Super Bowl loss sting a little less. I’m still bitter about that, and I bet the players are too.

Oh well, next year boys. Next year. I still love you. You’re still my team

Clayton and I calculated that we’re allowed to be mad about it until baseball season starts.

Go Braves! Maybe we’ll win some this year!

I just laughed when I typed that.

You can call me a lot of things, but you cannot call me a fair-weather fan. Win or lose, I will not divorce you and move on to a better looking, younger team.

And if we didn’t enter into this work week in a bad enough emotional state of well-being, my husband received the devastating news that their family dog was to be put down. He got the phone call from his parents while at work on Monday and was asked to come directly to the vet’s office.

Hooch is, without a doubt, the spunkiest boxer to ever grace this earth. Mr. Wiggles, as I loving named him when I first met him 6 years ago, had been suffering from a tumor for the last year or so. The tumor wasn’t life-threatening at first, but much to my family’s dismay, they learned that it couldn’t simply be removed. Every time a doctor came at Hooch with a needle or attempted to sedate him, he’d have a seizure. Putting him under to operate just wasn’t an option.

He did really well for several months, even as we could visibly see the tumor growing larger and larger. It was located on his backside, right next to his butt, and began to make sitting uncomfortable for him, but he was still running and wiggling his way around the house. Hooch was given steroids and other medications to help the symptoms, but everyone had more or less accepted that he would just endure the growth until he … well, couldn’t anymore.

On Super Bowl Sunday we were asked to head over to my in-laws to spend some time with him. The tumor had started to block his intestines which made going to the restroom an absolute impossibility for him. He stayed out in the backyard all day, pacing in the snow and occasionally squatting in hopes to relieve himself. But he just couldn’t.

When we left their house to go watch the game with friends, Hooch still hadn’t found any relief. My in-laws were hoping to make him sleepy enough with some Benadryl so they could administer a home-made enema to help him use the restroom (I know that sounds gross, but you’ll do anything for those you love). The next I heard of the situation was Clayton’s phone call to me at work on Monday telling me he was on the way to the vet.

He didn’t have to tell me why he was going.

Hooch lived a good, healthy 10 years and was adored by his family. He brought the them so much joy and they have many, many wonderful memories to carry with them always. His favorite game was chasing his laser light and he never looked happier than when he was sitting with my father-in-law in his special chair. He will be greatly missed, but we’re at least content to know that he’s no longer suffering.

Thank you, Lord, for the blessing of pets.