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Minuet died on Wednesday

My first dog was Brownie 400.  400 was the clever name my dad had come up for her in reference to the street she was found on. Brownie was my clever way of telling the world what she looked like. Brownie was a chocolate lab  that came to us wounded by a shotgun and on the brink of starvation. After several years under our care, her brown coat was shiny like new, the bullet wounds in her side were just scars, and she was a plump, terribly loving dog. The only thing we couldn't drive from her was her fear. She was afraid of everything, but especially the rain. I think it was the thunder that really got to her. It certainly got to her in the end.
My grandfather hooked her to her leash and hooked her leash to the fence so he could mow the lawn. I guess he was tired of going around her little plot. The sound of the lawnmower was so terrifying to her that she tried to get away at any cost. Brownie hung herself right there. I never saw her body, and only found out how she died very recently. I had always been pleased before that she was our only dog that had died of good old old age.
I remember running to my mom and beating on the door to the front part of the house. She came out smiling, saying,
"Sydney! I can't get ready that fast."
I don't think I waited for her to finish before I was sobbing telling her the news.
That was the first time I had ever seen someone's face drop like that.
She held me in her lap as I cried.

A little later, to console me from losing my dog, Mama brought home a puppy. His name was Monroe- like the street we got him on. One of Mom's coworkers had a new litter of puppies. I was so happy.
I played with him so much, until he started to get bigger. He was so playful, but he played too rough. He used to nip at me until I cried with frustration and soon stopped playing with him as  often. I would only play with him after  one of my parents had run around with him outside. As far as I can remember, he was calmer then.
One day, my mom came in. She looked upset- but I was so happy. I had a new favorite pair of pajamas that replaced my last favorite pair of pajamas. My last pair were bunnies- these were stars. Mama had called me her 'Snuggle Bunny', so of course I proudly told her how now I was a 'Snuggle Star'. Mama took me into her lap, and told me Monroe had run out into the street and he was dead now. I couldn't stop crying.
All I could think of then was that I was so happy just a little while before.

Minuet was our next dog. We waited several years before we got her. I was at a soccer game, and during half time a boy told my mom to hold a little black puppy. She did, and I was so pleased with it. the boy came back, and asked if she wanted to keep it. With me right there, I hardly think she had a choice. I was so happy.
We had Minuet for a long time. Longer than we had ever had a dog before. We all have lots of stories that we tell about her.
Minuet had five puppies that lived. I think eight were in the litter, but the five are the only ones I really remember. There was Bear, Butterscotch, Mini Minuet [who looked just like her mom. We just called them both Minnie, really]. Roxy, and Angel. Roxy was mine, exclusively. She was dumb as a rock, but I nursed her when she was near dead as a puppy. Roxy was mine. We gave Butterscotch to a man in a wheelchair that lives close to us. He changed Butterscotch's name to just Scotch- it was a more masculine name for a boy dog than the former. Bear we gave to an older man who was going to give the dog to his grandson. He came back later and told us he became so attached that he kept him.
He had a lot of time with the whole family of dogs. I was so happy, then. We let them run around in the back yard. We have pictures. They were such good dogs.
One day though, Minnie Senior went missing. My grandfather confessed that she had gotten tangled in her line and he had undone it so that he might make it right. Minnie just... took off. Three days later we found her in the front bushes. She had gotten hit by a car and had just tried to come back  home.
I visited a  friend whose dog was on a line just like Minnie's. At least I didn't cry until no one was around to see me.
Next was Angel.
She ran into the road and was killed by a car that swerved to hit her. I was told about two weeks later after coming back from a trip out of state to visit a friend. I don't think I ever cried.
Roxy was about a year later. After Angel's death, I kept telling myself and everyone around me that I would start playing with her again.
I really never did. Roxy caught a bird. The bones must have splintered or something- she didn't digest it. When they found her dead, Minnie was curled up next to her asleep. Nothing was wrong to them.
I was told that weekend.
It took a while before I cried.
Minuet died on Wednesday. She had had some kind of... bloating. She wasn't eating and it was hard for her to breathe. We fed her puppy chow, and she was doing so much better. She was happier, she was putting on weight, and the swelling was going down. But apparently that didn't mean anything.
I found out while watching a movie on the couch with my parents. I was sketching a picture of a curious rag doll with her trusty pigdopus companion. I laughed as I asked if the dog barking outside was ours. Mom told me Minnie had died on Wednesday. I just kept drawing, but I did cry a little. I just held it in until I didn't really feel on way or another about the whole. An hour later when my mom and dad were laughing in the other room, I think I cried again.

We just got back from seeing a movie at the theatre. I have to go to my first actual job in the morning, and I've been writing this for about an hour instead of sleeping. It's taking me a longer than it would have otherwise because I can't see the keys or the screen.

All I can think about is that I never want a dog again.

Description
Minuet died on Wednesday

My first dog was Brownie 400.  400 was the clever name my dad had come up for her in reference to the street she was found on. Brownie was my clever way of telling the world what she looked like. Brownie was a chocolate lab  that came to us wounded by a shotgun and on the brink of starvation. After several years under our care, her brown coat was shiny like new, the bullet wounds in her side were just scars, and she was a plump, terribly loving dog. The only thing we couldn't drive from her was her fear. She was afraid of everything, but especially the rain. I think it was the thunder that really got to her. It certainly got to her in the end.
My grandfather hooked her to her leash and hooked her leash to the fence so he could mow the lawn. I guess he was tired of going around her little plot. The sound of the lawnmower was so terrifying to her that she tried to get away at any cost. Brownie hung herself right there. I never saw her body, and only found out how she died very recently. I had always been pleased before that she was our only dog that had died of good old old age.
I remember running to my mom and beating on the door to the front part of the house. She came out smiling, saying,
"Sydney! I can't get ready that fast."
I don't think I waited for her to finish before I was sobbing telling her the news.
That was the first time I had ever seen someone's face drop like that.
She held me in her lap as I cried.

A little later, to console me from losing my dog, Mama brought home a puppy. His name was Monroe- like the street we got him on. One of Mom's coworkers had a new litter of puppies. I was so happy.
I played with him so much, until he started to get bigger. He was so playful, but he played too rough. He used to nip at me until I cried with frustration and soon stopped playing with him as  often. I would only play with him after  one of my parents had run around with him outside. As far as I can remember, he was calmer then.
One day, my mom came in. She looked upset- but I was so happy. I had a new favorite pair of pajamas that replaced my last favorite pair of pajamas. My last pair were bunnies- these were stars. Mama had called me her 'Snuggle Bunny', so of course I proudly told her how now I was a 'Snuggle Star'. Mama took me into her lap, and told me Monroe had run out into the street and he was dead now. I couldn't stop crying.
All I could think of then was that I was so happy just a little while before.

Minuet was our next dog. We waited several years before we got her. I was at a soccer game, and during half time a boy told my mom to hold a little black puppy. She did, and I was so pleased with it. the boy came back, and asked if she wanted to keep it. With me right there, I hardly think she had a choice. I was so happy.
We had Minuet for a long time. Longer than we had ever had a dog before. We all have lots of stories that we tell about her.
Minuet had five puppies that lived. I think eight were in the litter, but the five are the only ones I really remember. There was Bear, Butterscotch, Mini Minuet [who looked just like her mom. We just called them both Minnie, really]. Roxy, and Angel. Roxy was mine, exclusively. She was dumb as a rock, but I nursed her when she was near dead as a puppy. Roxy was mine. We gave Butterscotch to a man in a wheelchair that lives close to us. He changed Butterscotch's name to just Scotch- it was a more masculine name for a boy dog than the former. Bear we gave to an older man who was going to give the dog to his grandson. He came back later and told us he became so attached that he kept him.
He had a lot of time with the whole family of dogs. I was so happy, then. We let them run around in the back yard. We have pictures. They were such good dogs.
One day though, Minnie Senior went missing. My grandfather confessed that she had gotten tangled in her line and he had undone it so that he might make it right. Minnie just... took off. Three days later we found her in the front bushes. She had gotten hit by a car and had just tried to come back  home.
I visited a  friend whose dog was on a line just like Minnie's. At least I didn't cry until no one was around to see me.
Next was Angel.
She ran into the road and was killed by a car that swerved to hit her. I was told about two weeks later after coming back from a trip out of state to visit a friend. I don't think I ever cried.
Roxy was about a year later. After Angel's death, I kept telling myself and everyone around me that I would start playing with her again.
I really never did. Roxy caught a bird. The bones must have splintered or something- she didn't digest it. When they found her dead, Minnie was curled up next to her asleep. Nothing was wrong to them.
I was told that weekend.
It took a while before I cried.
Minuet died on Wednesday. She had had some kind of... bloating. She wasn't eating and it was hard for her to breathe. We fed her puppy chow, and she was doing so much better. She was happier, she was putting on weight, and the swelling was going down. But apparently that didn't mean anything.
I found out while watching a movie on the couch with my parents. I was sketching a picture of a curious rag doll with her trusty pigdopus companion. I laughed as I asked if the dog barking outside was ours. Mom told me Minnie had died on Wednesday. I just kept drawing, but I did cry a little. I just held it in until I didn't really feel on way or another about the whole. An hour later when my mom and dad were laughing in the other room, I think I cried again.

We just got back from seeing a movie at the theatre. I have to go to my first actual job in the morning, and I've been writing this for about an hour instead of sleeping. It's taking me a longer than it would have otherwise because I can't see the keys or the screen.

All I can think about is that I never want a dog again.