On November 23, six days before my dog died, my uncle and my dog were fetching sticks. When my uncle threw the stick far down the gravel drive, Jesse peeled away, racing for it. But when he tried to stop at the spot it had fallen, Jesse’s two back legs slid on the unsteady path. After awhile he started limping and then we knew something wasn’t right.











My dad sat him down on the couch, and I rushed to get him some blankets and cut up hot dogs on a plate. The four days that he was on the couch I spent a lot of time with him watching dog movies, giving him hot dogs, and doing my school work by him.

One day after, my parents picked my brother and me up after school and said, “We’re going to grandma’s house then to confirmation in Alpha.”

I said, “Mom, can we go home and see Jesse?” She said nothing. Then I knew something was wrong.


When we finally went home that night I opened the door. I imagined him coming to me and jumping on me and licking me until I laughed. But instead, nothing but silence greeted me.

Looking back, I’m still a little mad at my parents for waiting to tell me. I understand though, that they didn’t want to wreck my day at school or night at church. But now that I’m in 7th grade, I know it’s time to look forward. I still love him and miss him, but I know he’s better off. Now he’s as happy as any other dog.