My aunt's dog died. I am kind of sad now. It is always hard to bury a pet. I cried like a baby when my guinea pig died. I fell into my mom's arms so violently and cried so hard.
That dog was ours for awhile. I used to carry her around with me everywhere. I put her on a leash whenever I was home because I was so afraid of her running away. I was determined not to let this dog run out into the street and get run over like our other dog. Despite my vigilance, she managed to get out anyway. Early one morning she ran out into the street and under a van. Then she came out unscathed on the other side. Another time we came home late and she sat in the driveway, shivering.
One day I came home from school and she didn't look well. She looked lethargic and nothing like her usual hyper self. Her nose was dry, the telling sign of sickness in a dog. After a day of her being sick, I begged my mom to take her to the vet. It turned out she had parvo virus, a pretty serious disease for a puppy. A lot of dogs don't survive it, but she did. That dog cheated death so many times. She ran through the streets with people chasing after her countless times. It is ironic that she died in a vet's office under bizarre and tragic circumstances. It is just so hard when something dies, and you would do anything to get that thing back. If I could go back in time one day and say something, if only she hadn't gotten her teeth cleaned, if only she hadn't been put under anesthesia, if only, if only. Poor dog, I will miss you.