Death Of A Dog
Death of A Dog
It was impossible to miss him. There he would be, stretched out, occupying a full 5 feet of prime real estate on the front porch – forcing everyone to negotiate his way around him .
He was Bret, an Akita Alsation crossbreed, and the dog I came to know as my best friend. Bret was generally a quiet dog. He would love to meet me at the door and when I walked up to him, hed lazily sit down and yawn as if asking for a scratch behind the ears or a pat on the back.
Bret was big, bigger than the average housedog by far. He had smooth, brown fur of which one could always find tufts all around the house, and there was mischief in his thoughts behind those sweet, innocent child like eyes. His heart though was what made him special.
Bret was old. In dog years he was 12, which roughly compares to about 84 in people years. I had gotten him when he was just a puppy, abandoned, lost, and scared. In the time that he had spent with me, Bret showed me the true meaning of values, what it meant to love
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