Personal Narrative: 8-Year-Old Dog

It was a frigid January morning on the day of the fifteenth. I arose from my slumber and with a groggy motion, I left the comfort of my bed. As I walked to the bathroom, I saw my German Shepard mix laying at the foot of the bed. I ebulliently told my dog good morning; suddenly, I felt a slimy, yet chunky and warm, texture hit the bottom of my foot. At first, I shrieked with trepidation and then, the realization of what I stepped in hit me. I hopped into the kitchen to find my mother and father preparing breakfast. I explained that Shelby, my eight-year-old dog, threw up in my room. I pointed to the yellow slime dripping off my foot as evidence. Over the course of a few days, Shelby had been getting sick around the house and refused to eat. My tender heart ached for her as she withdrew from my room with no life in her step. I urged my parents to schedule a visit to the veterinarian that day and they instantly

That day, she could barely walk across the driveway and jump into the car. When we arrived at the veterinarian’s office, they laid Shelby onto the frigid table to retrieve blood from her sickly body. I held her as she flinched with every needle that entered her veins. We had to wait one long, grueling hour for the test results to arrive at our location. The veterinarian walked in with a little less excitement in her step and I instantly knew what the results would say. The woman went on to explain that Shelby is suffering from the late stages of liver failure and is currently bleeding in her stomach. As she listed the medical problems my dog possessed, Shelby laid her soft head on my legs to comfort me in this plaintive time. I dreamed about the years where she ran freely in the desert behind my house and I woke up to reality when I heard the woman say a certain phrase. She told me the best option for Shelby would be to put her to sleep within the