It was impossible to miss him. There he would be, stretched out, occupying a full 5 feet of prime real estate on the front porch – forcing everyone to negotiate his way around him .

It was impossible to miss him. There he would be, stretched out, occupying a full 5 feet of prime real estate on the front porch – forcing everyone to negotiate his way around him .

Death of A Dog It was impossible to miss him. There he would be, stretched out, occupying a full 5 feet of prime real estate on the front porch – forcing everyone to negotiate his way around him . He was Bret, an Akita Alsation crossbreed, and the dog I came to know as my best friend. Bret was generally a quiet dog. He would love to meet me at the door and when I walked up to him, he’d lazily sit down and yawn as if asking for a scratch behind the ears or a pat on the back. Bret was big, bigger than the average housedog by far. He had smooth, brown fur of which one could always find tufts all around the house, and there was mischief in his thoughts behind those sweet, innocent child like eyes. His heart though was what made him special. Bret was old. In dog years he was 12, which roughly compares to about 84 in people years. I had gotten him when he was just a puppy, abandoned, lost, and scared. In the time that he had spent with me, Bret showed me the true meaning of values, what it meant to love someone or something. In the end he taught me how to let go. Most of the day he’d stretch out in the sun looking out of the gate as the world walked and drove by him. The next-door neighbors, the kids going to-and-fro from school, the mailman, and the gardener, they all knew who he was and they would often stop by to say hi. He was the most playful dog I had ever seen. He loved to go running on the golf course nearby and would often slip off to explore the wide-open outdoors. On his return from these escapades he’d smell like a tepid swamp as a result of chasing frogs into the irrigation lake down the street. Whenever he was let into the house, Bret would run around the kitchen and living room in circles, chasing his tail. He’d love to come upstairs to see me and to see if I had a treat hidden away in my pocket that he could get out. He never walked downstairs; he always rolled down, thundering away like a freight train. He was…


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