I think that I'm a bad dog. Yeah, I must be. Only good dogs get food and water and tummy rubs and walks. So I must not be a good dog.
How long has it been? I've lost count. But I know it's been a long time. It was 2007 last time I saw you. I miss you? Do you miss me?
Some days I think I should run away. How would you find me when you come back if I've ran away?
No, not when you come back. If.
The others have gone. I didn't go with them.
I'm sorry. I'll be a good dog.
You're looking for me right?
I'm starting to forget your face. I've listened to the white record on loop for so long that the recording is all I remember of your voice. A scratchy record.
Your face is just a few glimmers of a proud smile and some blurry eyes that sparked like stars when you were happy.
They were good times.
I'm so itchy. I haven't had a bath or even a brush in a long time.
If you came back now, would I recognize you? Would you remember me?
Would it be better for me if I remembered you as a sweet kid, and not as you are now?
Do I really want the answers to these questions?
If you see this, not that you will, come home. Please. But even if you don't...
I love you, and I'll be right here, waiting for you until I can't anymore.
I'll leave when it gets too much.
I don't want you to see my dead body. When I die, I'll go somewhere else, somewhere that nobody goes. No dog, human, or anyone else will have to see me.
You don't deserve that.
So, I'll be here, waiting. If I'm not home, then... I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I love you, more than you could ever know, more than any word could summarize, to the moon and back. My time is running out. You probably don't remember me, either that or you never want to see me again, but I don't think you should come back. I want to be remembered as the puppy that you knew, not what I've become. I'm still here, I still miss you, I still keep telling myself that you'll return someday. I can't wait for someday. I'm hanging on to my life by a thread. I love you. I fell in love the day that I met you. That was my mistake, because now I can't bear to accept that you've moved on. Or maybe... The real mistake is me, because it's been so, so long, yet I still want to see you again. We've both changed, me for the worse. I'm still waiting, and loving you with all my heart, and asking you to come home. I don't want to die alone. Will you come and say goodbye?