Gogi was once a bundle of joy, a puppy full of boundless energy. Eight years of companionship with the Miller family had transformed him into a calm, dignified old man. The house was his kingdom, and the Millers, his royal family. Today was his eighth birthday, a day he anticipated with a wagging tail.
But as the day unfolded, an undercurrent of sadness crept into the house. The Millers seemed quieter, their smiles less genuine. There were hushed conversations in corners, and a sense of finality hung in the air. Gogi tilted his head, confusion clouding his brown eyes. Had he done something wrong?
Then came the words, a dagger to his heart. They couldn’t keep him anymore. The house, once a sanctuary, suddenly felt like a prison. He was old, they said, a burden. The words echoed in his mind, a haunting melody of rejection.
The day passed in a blur of sadness. He wandered from room to room, his tail drooping with each step. The house, once filled with the sounds of laughter and love, now seemed empty, a hollow shell of its former self. As the sun began its descent, casting long, mournful shadows, Gogi found a quiet corner.
He closed his eyes, trying to block out the impending doom. Eight years of loyalty, of companionship, reduced to this. His birthday, a day that should have been filled with joy, was now a harbinger of sorrow. As sleep claimed him, he dreamed of the days when he was young, when he was loved unconditionally. But when he woke, the harsh reality of his situation would be waiting.
