When my dog turned four years old, we mated her with a full bred Maltese. Then three months later she had a litter of six pups. The oldest in the litter was a fat rolly little pup whom I named Jackie. I witnessed him and the other puppies being born but there was something different about him and I had an unusually strange attraction to him. He was always my favorit.when he was old enough I had to sell him, but my best friend who lived across the street from me adopted him and it was just after his first birthday that his life ended. Me and my friends were playing in the yard when Lindsays{Jackies owner} aunt let Jack off the leash for a second and he ran across the road to greet us. Then a truck came over the hill and poor little Jackie didnt see it. It crushed him and my baby died. He died in my arms and we buried him in the back yard. That puppy was more then a dog he was my son. I watched being born and I watched him die. It happened so fast that I didn't even get to say good-bye. Not until after he died that is. But the thing that kills me was that the morning before he died I yelled at him for doing something bad. He died thinking I was mad at him.