dogdeath

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Bailey George, O how I miss you: Your shiny black coat with the crest of white on the center of your chest, Your tiny ears that never seemed to fit your 95 lb frame,
I was 16 when Mocha died. I should have seen it coming. She'd been sick for a while, we'd had to cut her tail because of a tumor and she couldn't breathe too well. She wouldn't go back upstairs, no matter how hard I tried.
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