I went to my dad’s funeral with Luna, our dog she’s usually totally fine waiting
“Where’s the funeral home director?” I demanded, my voice louder and more commanding than I intended. The director, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a nervous disposition, stepped forward, wringing his hands anxiously. “There… there must have been a mix-up,” he stuttered, clearly flustered. “I… I’m so sorry. This has never happened before. I’ll…… CONTINUE READING »