Been scarred for life with the death of a pet; won't willingly put myself through that again. Australian/Border Collie mix with a bit of a hard history. Was the runt of his litter, subsequently abandoned along with the rest of the litter and put into a shelter with them. Literally last in line for food the entire week he was there (could totally have been worse) and was bedraggled as shit really. My mom (I was 13) purchased him because he looked so pathetic, and he was then part of the family. In his first week with us, he tore my favorite book to pieces, chewed a chunk out of my hair (I had long ass hair, it was draped over a couch and he chewed on it while I was sleeping and apparently I didn't wake up) and crapped on my new Airwalks. Loathed that dog for the first year he was with us, even if after he started eating normally he looked like a furry pot bellied pig when you picked him up, legs kicking and what not. Had a rough loss at a regional competition for wrestling, and the dog was there. And continued to be there until I was 18 and moved out, though I visited like, daily to hang out with him.
Random passerby tossed him a piece of meat laced with speed for I have absolutely no idea of a reason in 2000. Came over to see him and he was freaking out, jittering and couldn't stop; mom was bawling. Took him to the vet, held him the entire time, they had to filter his blood and he wouldn't go with them unless I was there. Sat through the process and he looked absolutely hurt as you can imagine because I was the one keeping him there for it. Took him home and he had this uncontrollable shake whenever he was slightly excited from then on. I couldn't sit down in the house without him immediately trying to jump on my lap to doze after that, even years later. Was over there almost daily until I moved 300m away in 2007.
Then in 2008, while visiting from across state, I find out he broke his hip. And apparently went blind in one eye. And nobody thought to mention it to me. So I take him to the vet again and he tells me that he should recover sort of, but he's old. I hang out for a weekend with him and then head back home. Come back a month later and didn't see him in the yard. Mom walks up and says they had to put him down, because he tried to jump up on the couch and messed up his spine. She mentioned this while I was walking through the backyard looking for him, and pointed me towards the tree they buried him under.
Yeah, no more pets.