It's just a dog.

I didn’t understand when my grandmother’s poodles died. I was disdainful of the seemingly never ceasing tears, the flowers and sympathy cards. It’s just a dog. Luna is just a dog. I had many pets as a kid. The last dog my family had before I left for college ran away for lack of attention, but Luna is different for me. She has been my one constant over a decade of rapid change- in the span of 20 to 32 a lot has gone down. She has been with me through Massachusetts, Georgia, South Carolina, Pennsylvania, Montana, and finally back to my home, California. In the years of my transiency she spent nights to months with various friends, yet always gave me a hero’s welcome when I returned. She survived the years of not enough money to buy dogfood, and with the vet bills coming our way, it's a good thing we're not there anymore. She’s been my source of comfort through too many heartbreaks- If you wrung out the sadness that dog has soothed over the years, the tears that have disappeared into her fur could fill an ocean. Luna helped me find the love of my life, and she loves him now almost as much as she loves me (almost). Over the years, Luna has borne witness to all my change. I’ve watched her grow from a wormy, mangy, cringing stray to a loving, lustrous, buxom dog. I have watched her grow old. She is over fifteen now, and I am not ready for her to go. Even if this is not the end, it is the beginning of it. I feel cliché and too sentimental, but when it comes down to it, a member of my family is sick, and it tires me to the bone.