There are so many adages about time, that I often find myself wondering if time is truly of the essence or if it's truly fleeting. Our ability to measure time comes in many forms as well, years, months, minutes, seconds, hours, or even the rings found within a tree.

Now SOMEtimes ,time can stand still, i.e., first kiss, first time holding hands, or first time laying your eyes upon something/someone you like; whatever that thing is that brings time to a screeching halt, you remember.

Last weekend, I was sitting at a music festival in San Francisco, listening to a group which I've liked for sometime, when I received a text message which caused time to stand still for a bit. Before I explain my feelings and the impact this text message had on me, I'd first like to move this story down a different road for a moment.

We as a society have found it easy to take to our favorite "social media" sites and post/throw up all of our happenings in life in order to gain followers/thumbs, hearts, messages, or whatever else comforts the spirit/ego. I've been guilty of it just like many of you as well, IF we're being honest with each other for a moment. There was a part of me that wanted to share this on my Instagram but then I had a conversation with a cousin who told me that it's okay to feel sad and also it's okay to cry in private.

I digress...

(Now back to the festival)

As I sat listening to The Lumineers crushing their set at Outside Lands, I received a text, from my sister, which read, "When are you free next week, Sasha is being put to sleep?" Now, if any of you know, phone reception at large gatherings is hard to come by given everyone and their father are on their phones which in theory jams the phone towers, making it nearly impossible to call or text/receive a call or text yet here I was staring at this message which found its way to my heart and eyes.

Over the years, I've been able to take my emotions and place them off on an unnamed island of sorts to visit only if the timing is right. There's no room to cry because crying isn't a sign of strength and of course being strong is what it's all about when things become emotional.

I was sitting in the park feeling emotional, feeling alone, and the words to the song, at that time, were "Now a nurse in white shoes leads me back to my guest-room

It's a bed and a bathroom

And a place for the end

I won't be late for this, late for that, late for the love of my life

And when I die alone, when I die alone, when I die I'll be on time"

The truth of the matter is, everything happens in due time, I'm starting to believe. It was the summer of 2006 and I was working for a crop insurance company, noticing that there wasn't an real advancement for me. This particular summer was unlike any of the one prior, it was memorable for so many reasons.

A lady in our office by the name of Lillian, who has since passed away, had a dog who'd brought a litter of six or so pups into the world. In her Lillian way, back then, she offered to transport the pups to the office in order for anyone who wanted a pup to take one and call it there own. IF anyone of you know me, you know that responsibility isn't my strong suit, I have zero desire for children, pets, or the idea of growing up; save that noise for the mature folks, the grownups!

Of course as quickly as the door to Lillian's truck opened up and all of those puppies poured out in the grass, I found myself quickly in love with the idea of owning a pup but still not with full understanding of what this could mean to my lifestyle. I could tell you how I selected one puppy but then watched it act too excited so I put it back into the mix and then I spotted the pup that looked shy and I exclaimed, "This one is mine"!

I'm pretty sure I phoned my dad from my office and he scoffed at me and said that I wasn't responsible enough for a dog and that I he and my mom weren't going to assist much if I needed help with helping to raise the pup. It's always funny when things are said and then years later you look back on them and think boy were they wrong for making that statement.

To be honest with you, my dad knew what the hell he was talking about when it came to the responsibility piece because less than two months into having the pup at my place, work became busy, I began to travel for work and my parents took over the babysitting duties until one day my dad said, "Just leave the pup here, we have the space, we'll keep her here."

There's a thirteen year love relationship that formed with the entire family and Ms Sasha! I was greeted the same way every time I went to visit my parents and that greeting was with a doggy smile and hug; eventually my sister taught the pup how to shake hands, which was pretty damn cute too.

In thirteen years, I can't tell you if I heard Sasha bark even ten times, I'm really hard pressed to remember her barking even five times but I'm sure she probably let out a bark or two just out of pure excitement (maybe) during the course of her time with us.

Last Monday afternoon, my sister and me walked in our beloved pup to the vet in order for her to be put down. It's not too often that I try to act like a big brother and shield my siblings from pain but on this particular day, I stood by the door, peering through the window as they prepared her for her final moments of life; I could see my sister looking at me from where she was seated and all I could think was be strong don't cry because that's what you do when things get emotional. The truth is I couldn't be strong enough within those moments, of goodbye, as I stood, head pressed against the glass, tears streaming down my face.

I can tell you, in thirteen years, I made hundreds of unnecessary noises trying to communicate and now I sit here in my room, with tears in my eyes yet again, thinking that I failed to say one last, very important thing...

"Thank you girl, you were amazing and all good things have to end in due time, I suppose"