I'll start off by introducing myself; my name is Trevor (ask for my last name), I'm fourteen years of age, and currently am in grade nine.
I swear... Every time my family (my dad and I) get a dog, it dies without even living half of its life. And here's their stories...
Leevie's Story:
My first dog that I had lived to the age of three before it supposedly "ran away" which I believed for most of my younger years and the other day I just started thinking about Leevie (the first dog) and it makes more sense now that I think about it. Most of my life I thought Leevie just ran away like my parents said, but now I realize that I was wrong. Just how the scenario went, my father obviously killed him.
Bentley's Story:
Bentley was the first dog that I truly began to understand. He was a five year old Black Lab. He was aggressive to anyone who was either a boy or simply wearing a hard hat. If my big sister brought friends over, the guys wouldn't even always come in because they thought my dog was going to tear them apart; I was the only exception of a male that was actually good to him. Three quarters of the way through Bentley's life is when we got Lincoln; the Golden Retriever. Lincoln was like one or something of that nature when Bentley was hit by a cop who didn't even slow down or stop his car. In front of us. Bentley didn't hear the car due to his loss of hearing.
Lincoln's Story:
Lincoln was a Golden Retriever. Best dog that a man or woman could dream of having. Honestly, just typing this brings a tear to my eye. I miss him that damn much. Lincoln was a really playful dog and his whole life he was always just a puppy; no matter how old he got, he was still just a puppy. I remember when he'd always go outside and get in the pond in our backyard that's always really gross and disgusting, we'd just make him stay outside until he figured a way out to clean himself; he always figured something out. He LOVED playing, hunting or doing whatever. As long as he was with us; me specifically. At this point of my life, my mother didn't leave with me. She left us right after Bentley died. My father was working a lot, so I was home alone on the country side for half of the year... And for the next three years after that were all the same as the one before. Lincoln was all I had to keep me company when I was either working/not working or even just inside feeling lonely. He'd comfort me when I was depressed; not my family, not my friends. My dog. He died at the age of four (almost five) by getting hit by a truck when he was feeling adventurous and tried chasing the geese out in the fields across the road... That was the biggest heart break I've experienced in my life and to do this day I still am always talking about him. Lincoln was my life; he was my brother; he was my bestfriend.
Grizzly's Story:
Two days after Lincoln died, we got Grizzly. A Black Lab and German Shepard mix. We couldn't bare not having a dog around and we had to get one ASAP. I got extremely attached to him, he got sick, acted weird and died a slow, painful death just two days later due to Parvo. He died in my hands. We had no clue that he had it.
Lug's Story:
I never got to get Lug; he was a Golden Retriever that we were going to get the day after Grizzly died (planned to get two dogs, not one). We couldn't get Lug and we can't get a puppy until after December's cold frost because Grizzly infected the house/yard with Parvo. If we got Lug, he would've died.
I swear... Every time my family (my dad and I) get a dog, it dies without even living half of its life. And here's their stories...
Leevie's Story:
My first dog that I had lived to the age of three before it supposedly "ran away" which I believed for most of my younger years and the other day I just started thinking about Leevie (the first dog) and it makes more sense now that I think about it. Most of my life I thought Leevie just ran away like my parents said, but now I realize that I was wrong. Just how the scenario went, my father obviously killed him.
Bentley's Story:
Bentley was the first dog that I truly began to understand. He was a five year old Black Lab. He was aggressive to anyone who was either a boy or simply wearing a hard hat. If my big sister brought friends over, the guys wouldn't even always come in because they thought my dog was going to tear them apart; I was the only exception of a male that was actually good to him. Three quarters of the way through Bentley's life is when we got Lincoln; the Golden Retriever. Lincoln was like one or something of that nature when Bentley was hit by a cop who didn't even slow down or stop his car. In front of us. Bentley didn't hear the car due to his loss of hearing.
Lincoln's Story:
Lincoln was a Golden Retriever. Best dog that a man or woman could dream of having. Honestly, just typing this brings a tear to my eye. I miss him that damn much. Lincoln was a really playful dog and his whole life he was always just a puppy; no matter how old he got, he was still just a puppy. I remember when he'd always go outside and get in the pond in our backyard that's always really gross and disgusting, we'd just make him stay outside until he figured a way out to clean himself; he always figured something out. He LOVED playing, hunting or doing whatever. As long as he was with us; me specifically. At this point of my life, my mother didn't leave with me. She left us right after Bentley died. My father was working a lot, so I was home alone on the country side for half of the year... And for the next three years after that were all the same as the one before. Lincoln was all I had to keep me company when I was either working/not working or even just inside feeling lonely. He'd comfort me when I was depressed; not my family, not my friends. My dog. He died at the age of four (almost five) by getting hit by a truck when he was feeling adventurous and tried chasing the geese out in the fields across the road... That was the biggest heart break I've experienced in my life and to do this day I still am always talking about him. Lincoln was my life; he was my brother; he was my bestfriend.
Grizzly's Story:
Two days after Lincoln died, we got Grizzly. A Black Lab and German Shepard mix. We couldn't bare not having a dog around and we had to get one ASAP. I got extremely attached to him, he got sick, acted weird and died a slow, painful death just two days later due to Parvo. He died in my hands. We had no clue that he had it.
Lug's Story:
I never got to get Lug; he was a Golden Retriever that we were going to get the day after Grizzly died (planned to get two dogs, not one). We couldn't get Lug and we can't get a puppy until after December's cold frost because Grizzly infected the house/yard with Parvo. If we got Lug, he would've died.
