I miss my puppy
I was 14 or 15 when my mom decided she wanted another dog (we'd had Mabel, a black lab, for about 10 years by then). My aunt had just picked out two boys from a yellow lab-collie mix litter not far from our house, so the five of us went and picked out a puppy. After a month or two, we picked her up and named her Sophie.

My mom called Friday shortly before we left for PA to tell me that she had stayed at the vet's the night before. Last weekend when I was home, she vomited on the carpet. Apparently, she was sick for the rest of the week. They found out she had pancreaitis and gave her a 50-50 chance, so they kept her there for a couple days to treat her.

On Saturday, one of the doctor's called to say that she was in worse shape than before and it didn't look good. My mom told them to put her down, and the doctor agreed that it was the best thing to do.

Somehow, it didn't hurt that much when mom told me what happened. But then she said that shortly after they told my brother Eric what happened, they could hear him in the next room, quietly consoling our other dog, Lucie. It was like seeing my father cry for the first time, at my grandma's funeral - THAT's the part that tore me apart.