I am a dog, my name is Buddy and today, my friends, I died. It was a good long life. It was full of love and excitement. Now, it over and I move on to the next part, but that is a story for another day. Today I'm going to tell you the story of my last day. It started normally, you see. Like any other day. I got up, stretched out, and yawned. My friend and I lived in an old abandoned house in a slum. I can't remember the town. Human names are too complex and stupid sounding. I just knew I lived here. The tall long haired teenager poured me some dog food from a bag he had stolen from some rich dudes house. I ate happily and watched him eat a stale bowl of cereal, with mercifully fresh milk. After that, he and I walked down to the stream to get some water. It had run through the rocks, you see, so it was relatively safe for my human to drink from. The rest if the day went normally, he and I went out to steal some food, and we even found a gun for protection. My buddy told me that was a big plus. The government had collapsed, leaving the US in chaos. There was a new government forming, but it was flimsy and weak. Which was why we needed guns. There was no police force. After our thieving exploits, we went and played frisbee. That's when everything went wrong. I was old, I should've known it was only a matter of time, but alas, I wish hadn't happened just then. I threw a clot in my back. My legs were rendered completely useless. The human rushes over to me, and asks what happened, but he sees I can't move and both of us know what has to happen. We sat there, watching the sun go down, the pain in my back was growing, but I didn't mind. This was how I wanted to die. In the setting sun, next to my only friend. He looked at my and said "I love you Buddy, but I have to let you go..." He sobbed, tears streaming down his face and I sympathetically whimpered. He hugged me. I looked up at him, wanting to say one thing, all I wanted to say, was "remember me", but he wouldn't understand. But what happened next shocked me. He said, "of course I'll remember you." I wanted to know how he had understood me, but deep down, I sorta knew. Just like he had known. There was no speech, there was just... Knowing. The pain was excruciating now, and I was howling. He looked at me, tears streaming down his face and pulled out the gun we had found earlier and said "I'm so so sorry, Buddy. I... I love ya old pal." There was a bang, ad then whiteness. So, I am dead. But I am not angry with the boy. He had to... A crippled dog can't fight intruders or run from chaotic gun fights. There is a moral to this story though, although you may not believe it. We are all stories in the end, little scribbles Ito the fabric of time, carvings in the stones of history. That's why I wasn't mad. Because my story was a good one. My life couldn't have ended a better way. By the side of my best and oldest friend. That's the moral, dear readers. Write your story how you want it to be read.