No deck construction went on this weekend, due to some confusion on the part of Home Depot's order desk. Their delay (they ended up delivering it on Sunday at 7 pm) meant that I could go get more gravel to shovel under the deck and rake level. While under the deck, I looked out and saw Devon, the family dog, laying in the grass a few metres away.

Devon's getting on in age. She's thirteen (or so) and they've been an active thirteen years. Being part of raising two kids has meant that she's been carried, dressed, wrapped up, forgotten, lead around, petted, pulled, poked, fed unhealthy things, chased and generally bothered in ways that only toddlers can do to a dog. The whole time, she has shown the utmost in patience. A vivid memory I have is of a 5-month-old McMonkey grabbing a chubby handful of dog ear and pu-u-u-u-l-l-lling, and hearing Devon let out just the slightest of low, drawn out whines, as if to say "If this is what it takes to be part of the family, I'll sit here but I won't sit quietly."

Now, as the kids are old enough to respect and treat the dog properly, Devon has become very comfortable in her token role of guardian of the house and movable throw rug. As I observed her laying there in the shade of our big backyard tree, the wind was gently carrying the sound of kids playing in the park behind our house, the grass was cool against her black fur, no one was bothering her and a dish full of food and water was just a short trot away. I thought to myself, if she were to die and go to heaven at that very moment, she may not notice much difference.