A few weeks ago I was witness to a death. Ozark was twelve and the tumor was not allowing him to digest food; he was starving to death.
He was not even my dog. I’d met him when I started babysitting for a friend when she had her baby. Ozark was about two then, I guess.
Fast forward a year or two and I found myself living in their studio apartment downstairs as a live in nanny. Ozark basically came and went as he pleased. Three years went by and I eventually moved out, but that mistake won’t be discussed.
Even though you weren’t mine, Ozark, I considered you part of my family. You were very much loved and I will miss you. Rest in peace, my friend.