Over Christmas vacation I was with my family a lot and stories were told. One of them, which I had forgotten, caught my memory and I thought it might be worth telling. Although some people may be discussed by it, this really shows how much animals are a part of who I am.
The story starts back when I was about 4. We had just moved into our 250 year old farm house and 4 story barn when me and my four siblings at the time wanted pets like crazy. We wanted cows and cats and bunnies and every other kind of animal that small children want. However our parents did not want pets and we were forced to living pet-less for a while. I was not okay with this. So what did I do? I went and found a chipmunk. I loved that chipmunk so much. I carried him around and made him a little bed and house. I was in total heaven. And then one day I showed my mom my new friend. My mom saw the little thing and then looked at me. She told me that he was dead. But not to worry, he wasn't dead. He was sleeping. At least, in my 4 year old mind he was sleeping. For about three days the whole thing lasted. Until my mom made me bury my first furry friend. Poor little guy, he was just having a long, long, nap.
NOTE: There may be more mistakes in grammar and spelling in this post, this is because 1. I am too lazy to check for them, and 2. I got a new computer for Christmas and my typing skills are not fully in check yet.
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