I used to have a dog named Kisser. He was one of the most precious things I could ever have. I first saw Kisser when my neighbor’s dog had puppies. There were 3 brown puppies, and 2 black puppies. The little curious black ones would never let us hold them or pet them, they were always scurrying off away from us. On the day before I picked my puppy to keep, one of the little black ones let me hold them. It was so cute and sweet. My mom and dad told me I could get one that same night. When I went over to get one, I didn't have a hard time choosing. I picked the little black puppy. I went home and though over and over that night what I was going to name him. I was going to name her Princess, but then I thought a while and decided I would name her Kisser after the fact she wouldn’t stop licking my face and hands. She went over to my neig
hbor's house one day to see the rest of the family. When I couldn't find her I started to cry. My mom and I were looking for her and calling for her, but she wouldn't come. Then we went over and looked over the fence, and there she was playing with her brothers and sisters. Every time after that we knew where to look if she didn't come. A couple years later, a few days before her birthday, I went to my cousin house to spend the night. My mom was supposed to pick me up the next day, but she didn't. Finally the next day she came and picked me up really early. She brought me to an animal hospital. When we got there, there was my precious Kisser laying down with IVs in her. He had been hit by a car last night and had broken her front right leg up high, and they didn't know if it could be fixed. The reason my mom didn't tell me this, is because the
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