The dog lying on its side, it looked like fresh mt. lion kill, but as I got closer it appeared as if she was breathing. She was. I carried her over my shoulder crying, this was not Nikita it was a black dog dying on my shoulder as I carried her back up the mountain to the house where the sunshines daily. As I walked another dog appeared it, a young shepard. I placed the black dog on the ground, it had stopped breathing. The shepard pup approached and licked my face and my tears away.
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