I found out this weekend that Roxie, the dog that my family had owned since I was eight, died of old age on Thursday. She lived to be way older than most dogs her size (she was a rottweiler) and lived a very good life, thanks to my mom. Most of my friends remember her, if not because of her size and powerful flatulance, but for her love of socks and her tendency to take the socks off of mine and my sister's friend's feet, oblivious to the friend's surprise and resistance. Roxie ate many socks, slept on the couch many times, and stunk my family out of the rooms of our house many times. Now to teach the cat to live up to such standards next time I visit.