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Dec 2015
I thought each breath would be his last
As we stared in silent apprehension,
Willing the tears to leave
As his breaths grew more and more shallow
And further and further apart
Until I stroked his mangy coat for one last time
And he released his last strangled breath.
*Is this what it's like to die?
Bye Whitey Ford, it was nice knowing you and I hope you're suffering has ended
Can't Believe It's Not Butter
Written by
Can't Believe It's Not Butter  California
(California)   
312
     Anna Fox and Pastell dichter
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