Before I start, I want to say that nothing bad happened to Leah and me.

Friday afternoon we went down to the grocery store and stopped to get some takeout. As we drove back towards our house on Huffaker Road, an ambulance came up behind us and passed. A minute later a second emergency vehicle, this time a fire department rescue truck, also passed us. They disappeared before we reached the turnoff to go up the mountain, and we assumed they had kept going towards the next road that leads into Texas Valley.

A neighbor called as we drove up the mountain and asked if we knew what was going on. She heard the sirens coming up, but nothing came by her house. We drove up to her house, which is around the curve beyond us, and were talking when another neighbor came by going down. A few minutes later he came back and told us that Ron, the man who works with John, the grading guy, had turned over his four-wheeler down at John’s house and had been killed.

It was quite a shock to Leah and me. Leah had not seen much of Ron, but I had. He and John worked on our property while we were building, and I’ve seen and talked to him quite a few times over the years. He was as nice a guy as you could want to meet.

The real connection with Ron was that he was the one who actually brought Sam, our dog, to John’s house when John acquired him for his step son around six years ago. At that time Sam was afraid of everyone except John’s step son, John’s wife, and Ron. Sam always came to Ron when Ron was around. He would never get anywhere near me unless Ron was there. Even after Sam came to live with us, he always seemed to recognize Ron’s car, even after Ron bought a new one.

Later in the evening, the same thought occurred to Leah and me: Ron had gotten up Friday morning just like every other Friday, and had gone to work expecting it to be like every other work day. He probably planned where he and his wife would go for dinner. It was a completely normal day. The only difference was that this was the day he died.

We, too, get up every morning, expecting the day to be the same as ever, and never, ever the day we die. But it might be.