dogdeath
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Bailey George,
O how I miss you:
Your shiny black coat with the crest of white on the center of your chest,
Your tiny ears that never seemed to fit your 95 lb frame,
I was 16 when Mocha died.
I should have seen it coming.
She'd been sick for a while, we'd had to cut her tail because of a tumor and she couldn't breathe too well.
She wouldn't go back upstairs, no matter how hard I tried.