What a meaningless being he was. He was only an average writer, no-one special or famous. He was only moderate when it came to sex, barely to be remembered. He was a failure at love, could never hold a steady relationship.
For being a dog, he couldn't consider himself a "good boy" . He was the opposite. He was hardly man's best friend. He was an asshole, and he knew it. Years of being one had finally caught up to him, however.
The gun in his paw was wet with tears dripping down his overly-large snout. He wiped the said salty tears from his face and put the gun in a box. He was going to try and make his last day a meaningful one with his family.
It was a Saturday, which meant everyone would be home.
The day went by quickly, however. It was uneventful, just like the rest of his uneventful life. As the sun went down, so did the rest of the family.
Brian retrieved the last thing he would need, the box with his pistol in it. He looked in the mirror one last time, his eyes were drawn down to the bright red collar around his neck. He unfastened it and removed it. He tip-toed into Stewie's room and left the collar in the crib, next to the sleeping baby. Brian froze to look at him, and smiled. "I love you Stewie, I really do."
Brian left the room and shut the door, but unaware he woke Stewie up in the process. Stewie opened his eyes as the door shut. "What the deuce?" He said, as he followed Brian.
The dog took the box and went outside. He sat down behind the nice tree they have in their backyard. He took the gun out of the box and twirled it around in his paw. He sighed and held it to his head.
A shot rang throughout the street.