Once upon a time, my family had a dog. She was part bird dog and part something else, we really don't know what. She was given to my family by another family who was moving and couldn't take the dog with them. So we took in the dog and named her "Freckles". (She was white with brown spots.)
We loved her, it's true, but we couldn't let her in the house because our landlord wouldn't let us. We built her a house and in the Winter we would add some hay and make sure that her water bowl didn't get frozen over. I felt bad for the poor girl, but what else could we do? We would take her for walks and let her run and play and sometimes she would disappear down the street, but she would always come back to us. As we got older, we forgot to play with her. My mom was always good about taking her to the animal hospital so that she could get her shots and flee medication, but more often than not, I'm ashamed to say, she would go days on end without seeing a member of the family for more than a few minutes.
Then came the sad day that we realized that she had tumors. Big lumps of her fur would fall off and there were bumps under her skin. The animal hospital said the prognosis wasn't good. She would have to be put down. So she was. Sad day.
But, as the animal hospital in Henderson, NV says (or maybe it was a movie...), "all dogs go to heaven". Good news.
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