Jenna

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Jack

            He was my best friend. I loved the way we would run around the field’s green grass. I would stroke his golden-yellow fur that was as soft as cotton. My dog would protect me when the earth was going underneath nightfall’s dark blanket. I would do anything to get my dog back.

            It started on one bright, sunny morning.

            “Jack, ol’ buddy,” I called, “come here!” Jack’s ears perked up and he quickly ran to me, so rapid he almost fell over. I laughed, “Good boy!” We dashed around the field. The grass tickled my feet. I laid down. Jack ran over and began to lick me.

            “Kate,” my mom hollered, “can you please give Jack a bath?”

            “Okay,” I sighed. Now don’t get me wrong, I like Jack, but giving him a bath is almost impossible. He kicks and squirms, trying to get away from the water. I tried to push him in. He jumped out of my arms and I went flying forward, into the water. I was sopping wet. He got a bit of water on him, too, so he shook all over me. I think I got more of a bath than him. After that hopeless task, I went inside. I realized my dad was home.

            “Hi, uh… dad,” I whispered, “I didn’t know you were hope.”

            “Hello Kate,” Dad replied, “is the dog outside?” Right then, Jack came in through the doggy-door, filthy with mud and grass. Jack must have jumped into the swamp by our house. “KATE!” Dad screeched, “GET THAT DOG OUT NOW!” I quickly put Jack out side and stomped angrily upstairs. Why doesn’t Dad like Jack?

             Awhile later, Mom called me downstairs for dinner. I ate through an entire meal of spaghetti (my favorite) without looking at my dad. Then, as I was about to put my dish in the sink, we heard it, the most horrifying dogs yelp and blast of a horn, as loud as a rock band playing a bad tune. I abruptly stood up and dashed outside.

            “KATE!” Dad called after me, but I was already gone and didn’t hear.

            “Jack, Jack,” I called. No reply. I sprinted to the road, wondering if he might be there. I couldn’t believe what I saw. There was Jack, or was it him? He was covered in blood and had two huge places where he would most likely have stitches. One of those horrible cuts was in his head. I think I could see his brain, probably just his skull, though. The other cut was in his stomach. Blood was pouring out of them both, blood staining his fur. His paw was turned the wrong way and his eyes were closed. “Jack!” I cried, scared to death, “Live!”

            “Kate,” I heard my mom calling, and then she saw Jack, she shrieked, horrified, “Oh my lord! Call the vet and ambulance!”

            My dad was nearest to our neighbors, so he began to sprint towards there. I held my bandana on Jack’s head, and it was beginning to be soaked in blood. I heard ambulances. They took Jack away.

            "Get in the car,” Dad said, even he sounded worried, “we’ll meet Jack there.” I sat there in the back seat of the car, trying not to cry. We pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. I threw open the door and jumped out, while the car was still moving! “Kate! Don’t do that!” Dad called after me.

            I ran in the hospital and screamed in the lady at the front desks ear, “Where is my dog!”

            “Room 186,” the lady said, without even looking up. As I was about to run to the door, my dad grabbed my shirt by the collar, almost choking me.

            "What are you doing?”

            Just let me see my dog,” I was crying now, “let me see him.” We stood there, I was crying, Dad was avoiding my eyes and speaking to me in muffled whispers. The vet eventually came by us and pulled my dad aside. They talked for a while. “Will Jack be okay?” I hopefully asked.

            Dad paused for a moment and gently hugged me and said, “They don’t know. They just don’t know. They told me the best way would be to put him asleep.” I began to cry again. Then we saw the doctor and vet go in the room, and wheel Jack away.

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