Her name was Jemima. She lived to be 15 years old. She was a Yorkshire Terrier. She belongs to one of mom's and my closest friends. Apparently, she died of something related to her brain, like a hemorrhage or something.
She looked so tiny and frail the last time I saw her. Her appearance alone could make anyone sad and think "you poor thing...how do you endure your frailty for this long?" My mom says that at least she's been put out of her misery, as in the vets put her down. Her "misery" has now spread to us and her owner, especially her owner. It affects me quite a lot too because of the simple fact that I'll never get to see her again. Death brings a lot of nostalgia to my mind, especially if it's of someone we know and love.
I'm tearing up as I write this because I know what it's like to lose someone really special to me. My cat, Newt, died of bone cancer at age 14. When someone you know and love dies, the nostalgia alone hits you pretty hard. Then comes the fact that you can never see the departed again, alive.
At least, Jemima lived a long and happy life, although I don't know how my mom's friend will cope, but I hear she took Jemima's death particularly hard, which I can understand. Now, Jemima's in a better place now, free to do whatever she wants, freed from the increasing demands of old age.
Pretty soon, our dog Kip will follow Jemima. He's getting old too. He turns 12 this year.
When I heard that Jemima died, this song played in my head.