This isn’t about golf, it’s about a dog. Fifteen years ago, our neighbors, Tammy and Gary. got a chocolate lab puppy. They were avid golfers, so they named her Pebble Beach, but she was always just called Pebble. I loved her, she was lively and affectionate and would dash over when I went out in the morning to pick up the paper from our driveway, and knock me down. Pebble now is old and almost blind and can’t hold her bladder, and doesn’t chase the ball anymore. So they are going to put her down, but keep putting it off.

About six years ago, Tammy, got a rare cancer and was misdiagnosed. When the doctors finally caught on, it was too late to save her and she died. In her last month, she had traveled to stay with her family in the west, to be with them at the end. Gary was devastated. A couple of years went by and we were looking to fix him up with someone and then Annie, tall and blonde, just like Tammy, a friend of hers from their home town, came to visit. Well, two years later Annie and Gary were married. I think Annie planned it that way, and I get some pleasure from the way she managed it.

It was Annie who, with a stone in her stomach, told me this morning that they were supposed to put Pebble down today, but she just couldn’t do it and had put it off till next week. I went into their garage where Pebble was hanging out on a mat and sat on the floor with her and petted her. And she responded, licking my hand and nuzzling it.

Everyone loves Pebble. I am feeling the pain.