My sister’s dog died six years ago and I cried. When she was alive, she’d always meet me at the roadside near the family house whenever I come home. I don’t know how she was able to tell of my arrival but I guess that’s why there’s such a thing as sixth sense. She also walked me whenever I go out of the house all the way to the road until I got into a taxi. At the door, when I’m about to leave, she’d give me a kind of nod and grunt before leading the way. She was my faithful.
Her only surviving pup, also a she, didn’t have that connection with me. But Peachie, her female pup, now grown up, is, to my fascination, like her grandma. She’s always there to meet me when I come home and walk me when I go out the house.