Here’s how it went down Wednesday night. You’ll have to forgive me, some details may be a bit askew, but this is basically what happened.

“Hey girls, come into the living room and sit down for a minute,” I said.

Annabelle looked at me suspiciously.

“Is this about Rosy?”

“It is, sweetie.”

She squeezed out a few tears before I could say anything. I explained that Rosy was very, very old, and didn’t feel well anymore. The next day, I was going to take Rosy to the vet and the doctor would give her a shot. The shot wouldn’t hurt, but it would put Rosy to sleep. And she wouldn’t wake up.

More tears from Annabelle. And from me.

Sophie, who hadn’t seemed to be paying attention, stood up and said, “Rosy go to sleep! Cock a doodle doo! The rooster! She wake up! She be all better now!”

I took her on my lap. “No, Sophie,” I said, trying to be a little firm. “Rosy is not going to wake up.”

But she didn’t get it. I decided that was okay. I explained to both girls that Ray and I wanted them to know what was going to happen so they could say their extra-special good byes to Rosy. I tried to explain to Annabelle that dogs can’t make their own decisions — that we have to do what we think is best for them. That it’s our responsibility. And that we didn’t want Rosy to have one bad day.

We pretty much went about the business of the evening after that. I put out some frozen hamburger to thaw for a Last Supper the next morning.

Just before bed, Annabelle approached me in the kitchen and told me she was going to make Rosy a paper flower (see above). And then she told me something else.

“You know what, Mommy? I’m not going to be sad about Rosy dying because she’s had a good long life.”

I smiled and hugged Annabelle, feeling melancholy. I worry that Annabelle has been through too much already, at 8 — a sister with a disability and a heart condition; a beloved grandmother dying far too young. A couple months ago, Annabelle was the one who found Izzy, the ancient Cornish Rex cat, curled up asleep — dead. Even that she handled with grace I find hard to muster at 42.

Annabelle’s got an old soul. Has  her life aged it prematurely? Or would she always have been this way?

Sophie I don’t worry about, not like that. Her soul is so young. She woke up this morning and asked where Rosy was, and while I think she knew what I’d say, I don’t think she had any idea what that meant. Sophie is barreling through life and at times my greatest wish for her, as I’ve written so many times, is that she doesn’t grasp the situation at hand.

Like the other day before school. She spied two girls from her kindergarten class, literally walking arm in arm. One I don’t honestly expect much from. She’s an okay kid, but never has paid much attention to Sophie. The other has been a dear friend to Sophie, seeking her out and taking her hand when it’s time to walk to class, helping her with classroom tasks.

But this particular morning she was with her pal, and when Sophie approached and got right in their faces, singing a song they didn’t recognize, the sweet girl looked exasperated.

“Sophie, why are you doing that?” she asked, then the two turned and walked off, with all the panache of Lindsay Lohan. I winced. I couldn’t blame them — they’re 6, and Sophie was being annoying.

Still, it smarted. (Funny, that word — smarted. Don’tcha think?) Sophie lacks the wherewithall (at this point, anyway) to recognize such a slight. And she lacks the social graces to approach friends the right way. Somewhere in the middle of the two, though, I fear as always that she knows exactly what’s going on, but doesn’t know how to fix it.

I don’t know how to fix it, either. That day, I distracted her til she spotted another friend who was willing to hang with her.

I worry that even if she doesn’t quite grasp them, situations like that will leave an indelible mark on Sophie’s young, impressionable soul.

And I worry that Annabelle’s soul is already starting to harden — just a little.

Mostly, I just worry. They are both my sweet, sweet girls. And unlike my sweet girl Rosy, sometimes there will be nothing I can do to keep them from having a bad day.