I've always begged my parents for a dog. Ever since I knew what one was, I've wanted one of my own. We've never had enough money/space/allergy medicine for my Dad, so it's always been impossible. Until about seven years ago when my Nan was offered a rescue dog who had no where to go. 'Masie' a pedigree king charles spaniel who had a heart problem so was turfed out by her breeders. My Nan always knew I wanted a dog, so she said that Masie would be unofficially half mine, and that was perfect enough for me.
For the first few years of my high school life I was an extremely uncool child who walked with her Nan and her nan's dog to school in the mornings. I didn't care. I was walking my Dog.
I used to go along to my Nan's house alot, do some dusting, water her garden and teach Masie new tricks. I'm glad I got to be closer to my Nan through this wonderful fluffy ball.
Today however, her heart got the better of her, and she had to be put down.
If I'm going to be completely honest here and say I found out about half and hour ago, and have been crying ever since. I know this is pathetic, believe me, but I hope you can see where I'm coming from.
I supose this shows that I've never had much bereavement in my life, as I'm reacting so badly. I think my parents probably believe I'm having some sort of breakdown.
Such a cliche, but I really hope there is some sort of Dog heaven :)
Thankyou for being half mine.