I can remember the first day we got him. As soon as we brought him home our aunt’s worthless dog attacked him and he peed everywhere. Too bad he grew up to easy my aunts dog.
I remember that almost every day of my life for the past 12 years or so, there would be one thing I could depend on, and that was him waiting to greet me at the door and being happy.
I remember the first time his age started to show, he started to become unresponsive to my voice and my mom told me that the vet said he was starting to get cataracts. I thought that it would be okay.
I always remember him being one of the first things to come to mind when I thought of home when I was away. Thinking that he would be there would help whenever I felt homesick.
I remember always talking to him, even though I felt kind of dumb talking to something that probably understood nothing I was saying.
I also remember talking to him for the last time saying that he would be okay, and that hopefully his health would last until the next time I came home. I gave him a hug and left for school.
The next time I came home, I noticed he wasn’t there to greet me. I asked my mom where he was and she just looked at me awkwardly and said the words I didn’t ever want to hear.
I didn’t believe her so I went upstairs to check my room and hope to see his bed with him sleeping in it or something. He wasn’t there.
I remember just wanting to sit there and cry, and all I could do was stand there while my mom hugged me as I choked up.
I remember sitting in my house after that, actually by myself, for the first time in a long time. It was just too quiet.
Things are changing… someone, stop this train.
