December 19, 2011

March 22, 2012
I had just made a sandwich, a regular ham and cheese, which I did almost every Sunday. I took the last bite when the phone rang. I sprinted to the phone, and picked it up.

“Hello?” I answered. It was my mom.

“Bella, I have something to tell you. Today, after you went to your aunt’s house, and while I was at work, my friend Lori was watching the house.” She paused, and took a long deep breath.

“When I pulled in the driveway, the front door was open.”
I clenched the phone tightly in my hand not knowing what was going to come next.

She resumed, “I jumped out of the car, and sprinted to the front door, my friend sat on the couch in tears.”
I would have never expected what she told me next. Apparently, my dog had gotten out. The dog that I had had as long as I could remember, the dog that had been with me through everything, the dog that knew all my secrets. I let the phone go, and broke down in tears, unable to speak. I felt like my heart had been ripped right out of my chest. I managed to spit out the words, “Can we look for her?”
I ran outside, anxiously pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, waiting for my mom to pick me up. We drove around the neighborhood for hours. I yelled her name every few seconds, and by the end of the night my throught was burning. It was now dark out, and we were forced to stop.
As soon as I got home I made multiple posters to hang up around the neighborhood, and called every shelter that I could find. There was no luck, and for the first time in however long I could remember, I went to bed with no dog by my side.

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