The old door wasn't professionally installed, but for decades it has shielded us from snow, cold, wind, rain and heat. It has kept pets and small children inside, or swung open to let them run across the desk and down the stairs.
The door has been slammed by teenagers — and snuck through by teenagers too, although they preferred the basement window for their late-night escapes.
It has been gouged and scuffed by pets, starting with our old cat, Basil, whose claws were much sharper than his sweet temper, followed by our dear departed doggie, Copper, who might scratch the door a dozen times a day to keep us apprised of his needs.
In other words, the years have not been kind to the back door. The glass is mottled and wind whistles through a gap at the bottom. But it's our door, and in some strange way, I'll miss it when it's gone.