Time slowed down. The next few moments happened in a blur. "Get in the car!" Our dog, Lucy, was in a critical condition. Jumping in the car, we began the longest ten-minute car drive. "Huff- huff– huff—," Lucy's breathing weakened. My brother and I had to keep her awake so she wouldn't lose consciousness. Every second, her eyes become heavier, making our task exponentially harder. Sweat dripped down my neck while I worried she wouldn't survive.

We arrived. My parents got Lucy admitted in record time, and doctors whisked her away as quickly as we had arrived. My family and I sat down, anxious about what was happening with Lucy. At that moment, I only thought about Lucy while constant noises emanated from the halls, "Beep. Beep. Beep." Seconds, minutes, hours, a day we impatiently waited, unsure of her survival. At first, Lucy was recovering, undergoing many treatments and medications.

We all thanked the gods. Someone was looking out for us and gave us a glimmer of hope.

Shortly after that, the person we thanked turned their back on us. Lucy's condition was quickly deteriorating, and we lost hope.

The situation we were in slowly began to sink in for me. The events that had recently happened weren't part of a terrible dream, no, but part of the cruel reality that we live in. Lucy was the first dog that I had ever had. Over the years I spent with her, we formed a connection that would last forever. In this time of uncertainty, I realized the importance of spending as much time with Lucy because of her remaining time. Deep down, I knew I could not spare a moment without Lucy. Over the next few weeks, using all my available time, I would be with Lucy. Tragedy fell too soon, with death stealing our precious Lucy. I am eternally thankful for our last goodbyes and recent memories with her; I will never forget her in my heart. My only regret was not spending enough time with her before she left. I would do anything to be with her, only for extra time.