Beck had a special relationship with my father. She always behaved better for him, and they seemed to talk to each other on multiple levels.
She went missing for about thirty minutes before I called him to help me search for her. Within a few hours, we had filed a lost dog report for the animal services, posted a Craigslist notice, called all the local vet clinics, connected with a local Facebook group that finds lost dogs, and etc.
I walked the area she went missing, and couldn't find her. I was at the far back of the park when I ran into some strangers, and asked him if they'd see a Doberman.
"The one with the blue service dog vest? Yeah, she's dead, she's between the sixth and eighth hole," he told me.
I walked away and called my father, asking if it was true. Yes, he had found her.
Dad and I took Beck to the vet clinic, where I want to have her cremated. I asked to spend some time with her, and they put Beck in the conference room, and I sat there with her.
Dad joined me, and taking a tissue, wiped Beck's face, removing the grass.
It was then that I started to cry.
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