The short story: my dog died tonight.

His story: He was born thirteen years ago, a few months before my sister. A black cocker spaniel. My dad brought him home one day with the name Captain Hook, for the curly black hair on his ears. He was meant to take my mind off of the loss of attention to me, and it worked perfectly. From near the first day we had him, he was my best friend. He was my dog, but more importantly I was his boy.

He ran away as a puppy, twice. Once he was found quickly, the next he was found almost a week later shivering in the rain behind a neighbor's A/C unit. Both times I cried.

Much of his life was the same day after day. He was like any other cocker: joint problems, eye problems, ear problems, stomach problems, nervous system problems... But through it all he was there with me, and I tried to be there for him. He was, by far, the most loyal friend I've ever had. I didn't ever treat him as well as he treated me, especially in the last two years. But I was always his boy, and he always shadowed me so that he could be with me, no matter what I was doing.

In the past year, he'd developed more and more problems. He had seizures more often than before, his hearing failed almost entirely, his eyesight was minimal, and he became much weaker. He never accepted help climbing stairs, even today, in spite of his pain and weakness. When I wasn't around, he fell apart. When I was, he perked up. He was actually seeming to do much better today than he had been.

He died behind the couch while I was upstairs working tonight. I found him because I was going to take him out before bed. I don't even know when he died. I wasn't even around. I didn't get to give him one last pet or pat. I didn't get to tell him he was a good boy.

I buried him tonight, in the dark, under the willow tree in the back yard. It was every thing I could do not to throw up while I laid him down in the hole I dug. I cried while I filled the hole in and I haven't stopped crying since, save while I write this for him. If I believed in a god, I would have buried him under his name. But I don't, so the best I could give him was that his body be taken in nourishment of the earth and that what I'm sure must be a soul find peace and fullness somewhere.

Some people will wonder why I care and hurt so much at the death of my dog. I'm reacting more strongly than I have at the deaths of some people I knew. That's because I care more about him than I did for those people. He was closer to me, integral to my life and who I am. You never met him, you may not care, but now you know. And that's the least I could give him. He was just a dog, but he was my dog.

And more importantly, I was his boy.