So just recently, my grandmother’s dog, “Lucy”, passed away. It was expected that she would have a week to live, but her condition rapidly got worse so she had to be put down because she was in so much pain. This dog is pretty special to me for a number of reasons. Lucy was the dog before I had a dog (I now have a dog named “Pepper"). I would always be excited to stay and have my grandmother visit me because she had a dog. I remember that when I would visit my grandmother’s house, Lucy would run up to the door, and jump up, looking at me.
The fact that Lucy is gone, even though I have a dog of my own, feels really weird. I wish I could of visited my grandmother’s house so I could see Lucy one last time, one last goodbye, but alas, my last goodbye was unknowing that Lucy didn’t have long to live at the time. But, Lucy lived a very long life. By the time she was put down, Lucy was 15. I’m really going to miss you, Lucy.