My dog died this morning.

And my dog was awesome. She was deaf, clumsy, and didn't understand how to play fetch. She was the most gentle, benevolent soul I ever met. If you rubbed her belly or gave her some food, she loved you unconditionally---even if you happened  to be a serial murderer or a child molester. That was just the way she rolled. We had to make her wear sweaters and diapers the last two months of her life and she hated them, which I regret. But I also like to think that she had a good last two weeks of her life, because of Christmas and New Year's, where she got to eat a lot of good food and snuggle in a lot of warm blankets with a lot of people that loved her.

She would be 14 years old in February, which is kind of insane. We got her when I was four. She ate rocks when she was a puppy, an early indicator of her personality. My mother had trouble clipping her toenails because she was scared of the clipper; as a result, as she walked around on the hardwood floors in any house it made the sound of a dog wearing tap shoes.She died in this sweater she had to wear because it was so cold---it said "Cold Paws--Warm Heart."

The sounds she made this morning as she struggled to breathe were the scariest noises I have ever heard. The silence I hear now, as my family is gone, and I am truly alone in my house for the first time in 13 years, is deafening.
I miss her. Rest in peace.