Just two weeks ago, I had been getting ready for a big night at my nation. It was the last club night and I was working in the kitchen, and later we would hit the dance floor and party like fools. It turned out to be a great time with my friends and a great end to the school year. The next day was a little painful (bright sun, quite the headache!) but as I cycled home from a friend’s place, the sun was so warm and the weather so beautiful that I could not be any happier than I was in those moments. It wouldn’t last long, though.

By then, it was Saturday afternoon and when I got home I rang my father. He was a bit concerned because my dog, a 7½-year-old Chinese Shar-Pei named Magoo, had developed a sore spot on his leg and was not eating again, although they had changed his food. He was becoming rather thin and they decided that it was time to take him to the vet.

On the next Monday, the vet examined Magoo. He was in a bit of pain, as I could hear over the phone when I called my father. It was unbearable to listen to. The vet figured that it was an infection, especially since Magoo also had a fever. I told my father on the phone my concern that this was something much, much more serious than a simple infection. I was, for the first time, really afraid that something was very wrong with my dog.

You see, Magoo had been “my” dog. Although I went away to school almost four years ago, I went home enough to see Magoo and spend some good time with him. It still wasn’t as much as I would’ve wanted, though, and had been used to while in high school; Magoo, having in the beginning slept in a dog crate, starting sleeping upstairs near all of us and then soon by my door. Soon thereafter I let him sleep on my floor in my room. He listened to me a lot and followed me around a lot. When we first got him in Chicago seven years ago, I was the first person to see him at the door. And I played with him and stayed by him constantly. Although he belonged to our family, I’d like to think that Magoo and I had the strongest bond.

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