I had a really hard day today. I worked an extra long shift on a really busy day (I work in MacDonads -hey, it pays the bills!, and in Canada, it was Nugget Tuesdays, which is hell), my Discman (which is like my child) broke and my fish died.

And after my shift, it was pretty late, and I walked all the way home, looking at these pictures that I just had developed recently. I was almost home when I found one of my dog, taken two weeks before he died. Shaken by it, I rushed home, and for the fist time in eleven years, no one was home. No one at all. He wasn't there to greet me, to let me know that someone was happy to see me.

It was devastating. I loved my dog like a best friend, and when he died (the day before my seveteenth birthday, nonetheless), I didn't think I could cry enough for him. And here I am, crying again.

I read on a site that Brian's two dogs were taken from him. As a former pet owner and best friend to the craziest, most lovable black Lab ever, I just want to say that that is the most despicable thing in the world, short of kidnapping someone's child. And I hope whoever it was that took their dogs realizes just how horrible their little act was.

I can understand how Brian must have felt, and I sympathize with him. And most of all, I miss my dog.

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