The Last RideJM Ames
The Boy, who is slowly becoming a man, is sad. Sadder than I’ve seen him in a very long time, maybe ever! I whimper at him, because his sadness makes me sad. I lick the salty water off his cheeks, then rest my head on his lap, looking up at him and wagging my tail, hoping that will make the sad go away, but it only seems to make it worse. He starts making all sorts of howling noises, his body hiccupping, the wetness coming faster now. He wraps his arms around my neck, burying his face in my fur. I don’t like it when The Boy is sad.
I don’t remember too much about my life before The Boy, just some foggy images of my mother. I never met my father, never had any littermates, at least not until I met The Boy. I don’t exactly remember how I got to The Boy’s den, I just re
