Chinese Version


  - Daniel 9/10/2000

Black dogs.

I love dogs, especially black ones.

Most of my dogs were black. All were mutts. I believe all dogs are cute, and don't care whether they are pure bred or not.

When I was living in Argentina, I had a black dog. His name was "Osso", it means bear in Spanish. I was 13, living alone in Buenos Aires. I didn't have any family or relatives, nor did I have many friends. Osso was all I had. He was my best buddy.

A friend gave him to me because her mom wouldn't let her keep a pet. He was about 2 months old when I saw him. Short black hair with a white patch on the chest, just like a bear. We slept together, ate together, and played together; we did everything together. When I felt sad and lonely he would try to cheer me up, when I cry he would comfort me, licking my tears off my face. We were best friends.

One day, I took Osso out for a walk. He ran after another dog before I can put the leash on him; I called his name, asked him to come back. He looked at the other dog for a second and then ran back towards me. As he crossed the street, a taxi ran him over. Both the front and the rear tires ran over his body. At first I though he was okay, because he was still running towards me, I though maybe his legs were injured. He jumped right into my arms, I looked into his eye. In his eyes, I saw desperation, pain and my own fear. Fear of losing my best friend. Then he twitched, and died in my arms.

I was so devastated, I ran to the animal hospital in the neighborhood with Osso in my arms. I was running, crying and praying. The vet told me there was nothing she could do for him. His internal organs were all crushed. I cried, and was so unfair.

I buried him in a small park, I go visit Osso often. Just sitting beside him. Alone.

Ps. Never ever let your dog out without a leash on.

-edited by small small on 10/08/2000

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