One day, many years ago, back when I was a 6 year old cubbie, I came home from school to find a tawny dog in the backyard, similar in size to cub Simba. She was a young stray at the time, but my parents let me keep her.
Although I was frightened by her spastic barking at first, she quickly became my best friend. Every night, when I went to sleep I would call her name and she would come running to lay on my bed. I would pet her, and she would keep me company throughout the night.
However, as the years passed, I began to lose my attachment to her. Sometime in 2007 I realized that I, and the rest of my family, were not giving her the love and attention she deserved. Shortly after, in 2008, we found her a new home.
And, today, I check my inbox to find that she died last night. This doesn't surprise me. The last time I saw her, she was about 10 years old and showing her age, and that was over 3 years ago. I guessed that she probably died already. Although I know I'd never see her again anyway, and that she's lived a long, happy life (for a mutt), the thought still kinda gets to me. More than I thought it would.
