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I pick the puppy up and he lets out a soft whimper. He snuggles his head into my chest. I don’t think he will last much longer, and nobody should have to die alone in the rain. I bring him under a tree and sit down, holding him in my lap. I pet him, being careful of his wounds. I notice he has no collar. He must be a stray; no family. He is just like me. I tell him he’s a good boy and that he will be home soon. As I pet him, he licks my arm gently, as if to thank me for being with him in his last moments. The dog’s breathing was heavy. I held him for a while longer, the metallic smell of blood and wet fur strong in the air. His breathing gets shallow and less frequent, until he gives one last whimper, closes his eyes, and goes limp. My body starts to shudder with sobs as the reality of death consumes me. Minutes p by, and I stand up with the dog in my arms. I start to walk back to my home to bury him, my walk shaky from the quiet shudders of sadness. Everybody deserves a proper burial. Why is it that I weep for an animal, but not for the millions that have died in war? My world seemed to darken. I look to the sky and between the storms of droplets falling, I see thick black clouds. Thunder booms and lightning shatters the sky, illuminating the blood soaked fur of the puppy in my arms. I wanted more than anything to be with Max again. He was my only friend, and my only family. This dog reminded me of Max; their eyes are so similar. They both look at you like you’re the best thing to happen to them. They look at you with love written there… in the depths of their puppy dog eyes.