We used to have a dog. Tootsie was black, about the size of a of a lab – she was probably half lab, I don’t really remember – and she had pointy ears and a purple tongue. She looked a lot like my neighbor’s dog, Tokyo. The fact that their names were rare for dogs and both began with a T entertained my young mind. I loved both dogs very much, but Tootsie was ours and was loyal, compassionate, and protective… even when this ball began to form on her neck.

The cancer, which I didn’t realize was cancer until I was much older, took a toll on poor Tootsie. In the weeks she was drifting away from us, I came to remember all the times we, my brother, sister and I, were the absolute worst to this poor thing who just wanted to play and give love.

My brother with his BB gun, shot at the empty soda cans, horrifying our innocent pet; my sister and her friends yelled at her to leave them alone when they were talking about boys on the trampoline; and I, a child who was lucky to have a pet to play with because my siblings were much older, still dismissed this poor soul who deserved better.

She never bit me, never barked too loudly- and if she did, she would get quiet as soon as my dad knocked on the back door. She was good… and cancer took her.

She died sometime when we were away, leaving our neighbor and her look-alike dog Tokyo to find her suffering. Mrs. Hardin was the one who took her to the veterinarian. Mrs. Hardin was the only one there when they put her down.

We used to have a dog.