I say "this morning,"
But that would be a lie.
In reality,
It was this afternoon,
Shortly after I had waken up for the day.
I had him for
13 years.
13. The cursed, unlucky number.
I was into Tom and Jerry,
When I was 4.
It was a cartoon series
And it had a dog named spike.
So, we decided,
My dog could have the same name.
He was never more undeserving
Of the scary, tough title.
The first day I saw him,
He peed on my leg.
The adults told me
It meant that he liked me.
He was a sweetheart.
Kind,
Caring,
Silly,
Happy,
Fun,
And everything in between.
He barked at passing strangers,
And licked my wounds.
Soon I learned it wasn't only because
He knew I was in pain,
But because he simply
Liked to lick everything.
He was a rescue.
He wore scars on his thighs,
From fighting to get away
From his past life.
He was two when I was four.
He was thirteen when I, fifteen.
The last day I saw him,
He peed on my leg.
Not out of love,
But because he had a stroke
In my arms.
He died shortly after we drove to the vet.
My father told me to pump his chest.
I cried as he struggled to exhale breaths.
Thirty seconds later,
He stopped struggling.
Thirty minutes later,
We arrived at the vet.
And a part of me thinks,
It is completely my fault.
Because while my dog always knew
When I was in pain,
I failed to see his.
im rlly sad idk how to deal with loss
i mean, ive lost a dog before, Missy, but i had her for only six months, because she was dying of cancer and her owner couldnt take care of her anymore, since she was moving.
And before that, my stepdad's dog, named Cujo died. I was at school when he was put down. I knew him for maybe a little less than a year.
What a **** way to start off 2018.