Man's Best Friend

I can still hear her, padding along the now darkened and deserted hall which she once love to curl up in. I can still smell her distinctive, unpleasant smell she carried around with her everywhere she went. Her presence follows me everywhere. Tara was given to my parents by my grandad when they became married, but sadly when my mum began working full time she had to give her back, and so my grandparents took her in. Even though she wasn’t exactly my dog, I loved her like she was. Tara wasn’t your typical Mongrel: she loved to chew objects that I never knew were even edible; she was so mischievous that she even got me and my cousins into trouble and her short black fur made it incredibly hard for her to be seen in the dark, which caused a lot of tripping accidents. But most of all Tara was the most caring and loveable animal I will ever know in my lifetime. She was the one pet that I felt especially close to; my dog was like my best friend, and then she became ill.

It was a cold summer’s day when my mum took my sister and me over to visit my gran and grandad. I was incredibly eager to go as I would be able to take Tara for a walk as well as spend some time with my grandparents. When we arrived at my grandad’s house I expected Tara to be waiting for me at the front door, tail wagging in delighted greeting; however my expectations were far too great that day. I opened the door to find her limping sorrowfully up the hall to meet us. As soon as I saw Tara, I immediately knew something was wrong: she didn’t have the same sparkle in her eye which she had had the week before. My grandad explained that her back legs had just stopped working properly and he blamed it on her age. I didn’t want to believe this as I loved her so much and didn’t want to lose her. But deep down I knew he was right as Tara was fifteen which is seventy-six in dog years.

Just to be on the safe side, my Auntie Margaret took her to the vet. As expected my grandad was right, however the vet gave...
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