WARNING: The following journal entry contains sadness.
I have told you about my bitches before; Blanca, a black mutt, and Gara, a Garafian shepherd whose death I related on a previous journal entry.
I fondly remember what a clever puppy Blanca used to be. We were amazed at how she could catch her own leash in her mouth to walk herself, do somersaults when she was bored, or use a swing and a skateboard, which we biped retards could never do properly. I am aware that many other dogs can do those things too, but screw them, they aren't my puppy.
Over time she grew weaker, gradually losing her skills and senses, but we could always trust her undying loyalty and affection. Stepping out of our house guaranteed a blind black dog's head pressed against your leg, never letting go, inevitably ruining your clean pants. We knew she was so old she couldn't last much longer, but we knew she'd die knowing her family loved her and always took care of her.
May these fond memories soon overwhelm the image of the stiff, fly-ridden, half-decomposing corpse that took her place yesterday overnight, its empty eyes never blinking.