I remember last summer when we first met. You sneakily gave us the cute doggy routine and made me love you. You happily retrieved toys and thrown balls endlessly, and assimilated yourself into the family effortlessly.

Not long after your arrival, we began to suspect that you misled us about your intelligence and good breeding. Maybe it was those times when you chased a laser pointer for an hour and drooled so much on the carpet that I had to put down towels so people wouldn't slip and fall on the drool. Perhaps it was that for hours after the laser pointer was put away, you still kept looking for it. It may have been all those holes you dug in the yard to try and escape to China, holes that you dug so often, the black wore off your snout and we began to call you eraser nose instead of Allie.

The love began to fade when you wouldn't stop barking. You'd bark at anyone and anything no matter what the time. I hated you for that. The final straw was when you decided that you'd forgotten that the living room rug was not for urinating, and you forgot how to go to the door and ask to be let out to pee.

So, goodbye, yellow dog. I don't miss you at all.