My dog Tino died today. My mom told me they found him laying on a corner in the garage this morning. He was 14 years old, an stray dog we addopted directly from the street when he came scratching our door one afternoon when I was 12. My sister, who was 7 at the time, told us she had seen him near her school, where kids were throwing rocks at him. We believe he followed her home that day. He was a crazy little shit, used to climb up my bedroom window, jump to the porch roof and to the street right from the second floor, go fight other dogs and come back days later all fucked up. He didn't give a shit about size and was very territorial, but super sweet to humans. In my teens I hated taking him for walks because he would bark like mad to other dogs, made you look like crap. He also destroyed a book I had borrowed from the library, had to replace it and kept the other (I still have it, it's readable). When we moved to Argentina, we had to leave him behind despite having purchased the ticket and arranged all the documents. There was an airline strike of some sort in Italy, where we had to take our connected flight. The fucking airline told us that "papers were missing" -we came to realize a year later this was a lie-, instead of admitting they just didn't wanna go through the hassle of finding a different flight for the dog, even if it was days later. So we left him there with my aunt for a year, until my dad went back to bring him. A friend once told me this dog could write a whole book, and it's true. I'm gonna miss him a lot.
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