Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I was walking our dog when I ran into an old friend and his dog.  He asked about me only having one dog with me and I told him about the death of our other dog.  He's been through this grieving process with his previous dog, and I knew he was sympathetic.  I told him we'd cried for three days after we put him down.  I'm not ashamed of grieving for a pet.  Even as a child, I can remember grieving when our cat or dog died.  I've not forgotten any of them or their names.  I saw the sadness of my father when we lost a pet, and when his final pet, an apricot standard poodle named Pepe was hit by a car in front of his house, a light went out of my father.  We often suggested him getting another dog, but he refused.  He'd had enough heartbreak over dogs.  When he took care of our dog Huckleberry for a few days, and then later we had give Huckle away because he began snapping at the mailman and others, he looked at me like I was a murderer.  But I was taking care of him as he was dying of cancer, and driving back and forth to my four kids in a new house in a new town with new schools, and I couldn't handle it all.  But Huckleberry haunts me.  I should have left him behind in Colorado, where he was out in the country like he was used to, but my husband talked me into bringing him to our tiny yard in a city, and he couldn't adjust, and my dad was sick, and I knew no one who could help or support us.  Sometimes I forgive myself, and other times I know I never will.