All Dogs Go to Heaven

I can remember the day I picked the tiny chocolate runt out of a box of squirmy puppies. I chose him because he was the runt. On my way home, my first grade self tried to figure out the perfect name. I must have really liked Jack and Jill because somehow I came up with Jake out of the two.

Jake was almost never overexcited. He had always been a calm, introverted dog (if that's possible). He spent a lot of time with my grandma and one day my parents asked if we could give Jake to grandma with the promise of a new puppy for me.

Blackie bounded into my life the start of 4th grade. She is a rambunctious dog and always wanted to play. When my grandma died, we adopted Jake again. As I have grown up, the dogs have followed me and technically in dog years, surpassed me. The two canines have gotten along like brother and sister- you know, in the "I beat you up but I still love you way". Blackie would wait until Jake had his food before she would eat, checking his bowl before she went to her own. As we all tend to do, they both got slower and greyer with age.

This summer I got the dreaded note from my mom: Jake hasn't eaten in two days and won't go outside to use the bathroom. I think we need to call the vet to put him down. I told my dad and he said he would take care of it. Turns out, taking care of it means shooting Jake instead.

I was coming down our stairs and looked out the window. Jake was laying next to the rosebushes while our local sheriff held a gun. I was caught between a rock and hard place. My urge to go say goodbye and not wanting to see Jake die fought in my head. Then the next panicked thought hit me. I couldn't go back upstairs to the safety of silence. What if I passed the window and saw the whole thing I was avoiding? I hugged my knees on the kitchen floor and then moved my hands to my ears, squeezing hard enough to give me a headache. A small pop was still audible. Then the sound of running water. No secret what was happening.. my makeshift earplugs hadn't done any good. I stayed on the floor for another ten minutes and then I realized-Blackie was still outside, probably scared from the noise and new smells. I called the shaking dog into the house. My dad came in and confirmed what I had tried so hard not to hear. "Jake's gone."

It's been over a week and I still don't like to look out by the rosebushes. The wierdest thing is that Blackie will lay down out there, in the spot where I last saw Jake. The night that it happened Blackie looked lost and sad. Where was Jake? She couldn't eat dinner until Jake had his food too!

Where is he?
It smells bad by the roses still.
Why isn't he back for dinner?
Did he go eat from the neighbor's garbage without me again?
Mom, why do you look so sad? Jake's just next door.
I wish he would come home so I could eat dinner.

It's late, shouldn't we look for him?
Why don't you look worried? Where's Jake?
I'm too hungry to wait anymore- I'll make sure he gets breakfast.

This bed is starting to only smell like me.
Did Jake do something bad? I know he peed on the carpet that one time...
Jake didn't want to go on the walk with us? He never came home.
I wish he let me tag along, I miss him.