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When my childhood dog of 15 years died the summer of my senior year in HS, my mom being the one with the compassionate heart in the family woke me up with, "Get up and get a shovel. Your dog's dead in the backyard. Take care of it before it starts to smell. He better be planted before I come home for lunch. I'm off to work."
At least it gave me something else to discuss in therapy.
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