Pet's Dying

I had this dog named Rascal once when I was young. He was one of those "mangey mutts" people talk about. So smart, so protective, so great.

When we had to move from our large house in the country to an apartment in the city, we had to get rid of Rascal. My father lied to my sister and I, telling us he had found him a home.

Years later, my father's girlfriend at the time (in a fit of rage) blabbed to us about how my father lied about giving Rascal to a good home - that he actually killed him.

Killed him meaning he had to be put to sleep.

Just thinking about it these days still generates so much anger and sadness. It makes me want to cry - I loved that dog so much. And he loved us. It breaks my heart that my father had to put him down and didn't even let us be there to hold his paw.

Since, I've only really had my cat. Shes only about 4 or 5 years old and she is NOT allowed outside. (I am a protective bitch.) She's a pretty kitty. She's in good shape, too - she'll live for another 10 years, I'm sure.

Jam it back in, in the dark.