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A few months before I was born, my Dad went moose hunting with some friends. He didn't catch any moose (meese?), but he did come home with a part chocolate lab./part something else puppy which he named Moosie. I still have photos somewhere from when we were about 2-3 of her watching me while I slept. Apparently, she didn't like anyone but my parents going upstairs if I was sleeping. She was never the most energetic dog, but she would bounce off the walls when I came home from school. She never left my side when I was sick.
I was about 13 when she had to be put down. For the last year or so, her legs barely worked, and she could hardly see or hear. It hurt the whole family to see her like that, and we knew her time had come. I was old enough to understand this, but saying goodbye to her as my parents took her to the vet was the most painful thing I think I've ever done.
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