I want to know more about you. I want to know what made you happy and what made you sad. I want to know if you liked car rides or baths or long walks at the arboretum.
I want to know when your legs gave out, when your body stopped keeping up with your mind, what compelled someone to throw you alive into a dumpster.
I want to hope you lived a nice, long life. I really want to hope that, because no dog's final moments should be their best. No dog deserves to die in a loud, raucous kennel surrounded by strangers.
I'm sorry that, after giving so much, after being yourself perfectly and wonderfully for many years, that your big send-off was so awful and mean, so reflective of our ugly throwaway world.
I don't know if you were nice or mean or afraid or steady and solid in this world. I know you existed only because you died.
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