Personal Writing: My Dog Oso Oso was old. The joints in her limbs were stiff, so she didn’t walk very fast. She had, during the last few years, become hard of hearing, and had to be summoned to her meals by the flicking of the porch lights, on and off, to get her attention. Yet, she just kept trucking along, happy as can be. I adored that dog, and being a child, I believed that I would always be able to press my face against her long black hair, taking comfort in the warmth of her body, feeling her chest rise with every laboured breath. I always thought she would be in my life. No one could ever tell me otherwise, or could have