Yesterday I had to kill the dog. Not my own dog, the dog in my middle grade book- which was about as traumatic as putting my own dog down. I kept thinking if I were reading this to a class, I’d be bawling. Then I remembered back to fourth grade, Mr. Tharleston’s class, the man I attribute to my love of children’s literature. He got choked up here and there and so did all of us kids. A good book does that to you- takes you on an emotional ride. So my beautiful dog dies but out of it comes something really good and the emotional roller coaster of literature moves on. Whoops, maybe I shouldn’t have spoiled the ending for you all.