"Oh, but look at him! He's precious!" you pleaded to me, hazel eyes big and fluttering black lashes framing them. We were at the little pet store in New Jersey, the one where you always made us stop at on our way up north. You picked up a tiny black puppy, his giant paws dangling and tail wagging rapidly. "Hi there," I said softly. He licked my face in response.
I grew to love that dog, though we were polar opposites. We named him Jet, because he was so hyper and fast. I never told you the only reason I agreed to the name was the West Side Story reference. I don't think you'd mind anyway, though. You were just happy the creature shared our life, as he was like a brother to you.
Jet lost his energy and happiness. He fit in well with the dark and cold mood in the room. Though it may be his age, I think the reason he became so depressed because he missed his best friend.
That's the one thing Jet and I shared.