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The Life Of A Dog Essay

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Ever since I was a child, when I would return home I always looked forward to that fluffy, “ball of fur” who ran to the door every time I walked into the house, jumping in circles, wagging his or her tail relentlessly with a big smile on its sweet, furry face. That would instantly put a smile on my face, no matter how bad my day was.

Growing up, we always had a dog in the family. Each one lived a long life in dog years, and each dog we had was as much a member of the family as any human member. First, there was BJ (Figure 1). He was a “mutt” my mother adopted while in college, and was part of the package deal” when she got married. I was still quite young when BJ passed, but I was old enough to have a million pictures and vivid memories of our time together. What I remember most about BJ, was he never barked . . . literally, never. A few years after BJ passed, we adopted Toby (Figure 2), a black Labrador/German Shepard mix. She was a beautiful, soft-furred dog who was as gentle as she was soft . . . except to the boys who came to our home. Anytime a boy got too close to my sister or me, Toby would bark at them and let them know she was watching them; she nipped quite a few in the buttocks who didn’t heed her warning. When Toby passed, I realized I had lived in the home with Toby longer than I had lived with my sister, my only sibling. Toby and I were very close. Finally, there’s Bentley (Figure 3). My parents brought Bentley home after they became “empty nesters.” My
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