"Cowed" is the answer, by the way.

I'm writing a vocab test for my 11th graders right now. I just typed the sentence, "The puppy was ________ by the noisy vacuum cleaner," when my eyes started to get teary.

I miss my dog.

I finally started reading John Grogan's Marley and Me a few weeks ago but soon put it away, using Grogan's writing style as an excuse. Today, however, I realized I really put it away because reading it made me unhappy and jealous.

With all love and respect to my wonderful family, so far, the saddest part of moving out has been being away from Lily. The move came at such a momentous time; I had just bonded with her through her puppy stage and was looking forward to watching her continue to grow up.

It's hard to explain the difficulty of being suddenly petless to someone who's never had dogs. With the exception of a few gaps in between our Westies, I've had a dog in my house ever since I was born. A person gets used to the loyalty and companionship involved with having a dog.

I can't blame Bryan for not wanting a dog -- his ability to breathe is more important than my canophilia, after all -- but it breaks my heart to know that I will never have another dog for a pet. It's very sad to think that there will never be another dog who will primarily look to me for direction, nourishment, and friendship. Pearl will have been the last dog to ever do that throughout her life. With time, I'm sure that even Lily will stop recognizing me as a member of her family.

I know I can still visit Lily (and my family, of course) whenever I want, but it isn't the same as growing up with a dog and seeing good and bad days together. It leaves a hole when you can't have that anymore.