I do enjoy animals.

My parents bought my brother and I a golden retriever/lab mix when we moved out to the country as a family dog to watch over us as we ran around in the desert all day long. His name was General. He came from a military family who was being reassigned to Hawaii, and the dog would have been quarantined for so long that they didn't want to put him through it, so he became ours. He got his name because the guy's brother had a dog named Sarge and his dog had to outrank his brother's.

General was like a second brother to me. The three of us would go out chasing coyotes or just exploring. Sometimes we would lose sight of Gen, but he would always come bursting out of the bushes if we called him.

For a big dog, he never had too many of the problems big dogs get. He was arthritic near the end, but never had any bad hip dysplasia, even before the end he would always hoist his giant self off the floor to greet you at the door, jumping like the puppy he still was at heart. He always had a sensitive stomach, though, and required very fancy foods that were also expensive in order to keep him from puking or having horrible ear infections. We always joked that he ate better than we did.

I remember going down to visit my parents last year and seeing him. I'll always kick myself for not going out and sitting with him late at night and talking to him like I used to when I was feeling down, or taking him on a long walk, or letting him sleep in my room, because he died not long after. I will forever regret not being there with him when he needed me, but at the same time I guess I get to remember him as still peppy and happy. Still hurts to remember him, though. Every time I see a picture of him I feel it right in the heart.

Sorry to be a downer, but I do like to talk about how great he was. He was a shithead sometimes and once locked himself in the laundry room by accident and destroyed it trying to get out, but he was a good dog and I miss him all the time. It's perfectly normal.