I have a strange family. My mom and dad, let's put it this way, never got married. They are perfectly friendly to each other though. In fact, they live across the hall from each other. But they didn't know they would never fight when I was born, so they got me Brownie. That dog and I were the same age. So she was old when it happened.

Brownie whimpered as we approached the vet and gave me a look that said "You tricked me!" That's the good thing about dogs in NYC You walk everywhere so the dog won't know you're going to the vet.

Even though it was spring and warm outside I began to get chills running up and down my back. Finally I shook them off.

Anyway, I pushed her up the stairs and into the cool air-conditioned waiting room. Another dog from across the room barked at Brownie, but her fierce growl silenced him. I tried not to laugh but I couldn't help myself. Brownie's growl always cracks me up.

We didn't have long to wait before the secretary called us in. "Don't worry Brownie, they just want to see why you've been limping. I'm sure it's nothing." At least that's what I hoped. I think I was just reassuring myself.

I sat outside waiting. Dr. Hathburrow was testing Brownie for diseases. When they stepped outside, I could tell something was wrong before I even heard the words.

"Alex, Brownie has cancer."
I wouldn't believe it. I didn't even know dogs could get cancer. I began to feel dizzy.

My hands trembled as I pushed the buttons. My mom answered in her brisk voice. "Hello?"
"Mom, it's me."
"Alex, how was your day. Did you know, it was such a nice day that I ate lunch in that little garden!?"

"Mom," I said, my voice trembling.
"Honey, what is it?"
"It's Brownie."

I sat on the couch at my mom's house, listening as my mom spoke to the vet on the phone. Occasionally I would stare at Brownie on the couch next to me. She looked bored as she thumped her tail against the couch, staring up at me. I felt sorry for her. I had been sitting there for half an hour.

Dad had taken some time from one of his "cooking" experiments to come over. Now that my mom was off the phone, I could hear them talking in low whispers. I could vaguely make out what they were saying.
"Dog... school... few friends... lonely," I heard my mom say.
"Grow up... sick... love her," was what my dad said. I knew they were talking about me.

"Sweetie?" My mother said as she came into the room.
"What?" I said with a long shuddering sigh.
"We've decided to let you get another dog. We know how much you love Brownie and we hate to see you suffer."
"What? Why? You think I'm giving up on Brownie? She's not dead, is she?" I yelled.

Brownie, hearing her name, stood up and looked around. Then she walked out of the room.

As the weeks went by, Brownie got worse and worse. We made frequent trips to the vet. One day when I got to dad's house, I found a pile of hair on our doorstep. I followed the trail of hair to my bed. My jaw dropped open. Brownie lay on my bed. She had patches of her hair and looked sickly. I ran into the kitchen. "Dad!" I yelled.
"What honey?" he said calmly.
"Haven't you noticed Brownie shedding?"
"Nope, I've been in the kitchen all day," he said.

The vet gave Brownie some more scary shots, as usual. And she whimpered. As usual. Now she was asleep on the bed.

I stared out my window. I never had friends because I never trusted them. I only trusted Brownie. Now that all Brownie did was sleep, I had more friends because I had to learn to trust people.

I woke up the next morning and turned on my light. Brownie lay on her bed, motionless.

We buried her on the hill at my grandparents' house. It was her favorite place to be. I hung a picture of her on the wall - she had just come out of the lake.

Well, that's my story. As I write, a ball of fluff, no bigger than my foot, breathes slowly on top of me.

Ruby.

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