When I was three years old, my dad brought home a stocky dog, chubby like cotton Bureau should my parents called puppy fat. In the bit of my little memories about the first day of the meeting, only to remember that I was lying on the ground with the fat guy all day because it's quite scared, won't let anyone hug or touch. I just sit there, do not understand where patience, just call the dog love, which I bet even he doesn't know she is I'm calling her again. But there seems to have been bothered by the noise of me, in the end it also bear crawl out, timid licking my hands. I just grew up, next to my little puppy, day by day by day went peaceful and happy until one day when I was eight. Like every morning I greet parents and dog loves going to school but when tan learned about coming home I don't see the dog running out as every day. I have called many times, search all over the House but did not find one. I ask the parents know the data is going has been the flood of dog theft getting lost. my parents when my parents are sitting in the House, then listen to the cries of pain of the dog. When my parents, did not find one anywhere. I was crying a lot. as the last time I'll forget but there have been times when I come home in the unconscious I call puppy love, the empty fast against the initial unconscious being filled by the perception your loss, I know the pain actually delayed. don't know my face at himself on two streams of tears was flowing. Love, then, irrespective of age, circumstances, status, and even the same species. I remember the good boy, I remember the whole childhood, and all the memories can't be separated. I remember a friend, a long way of life which is only in the blink of an eye.
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