I am nine years old and in April, I lost my brother and one of my best friend, a fourteen year old miniature schnazuer, Gatsby. Almost everyone who wasn't in our family hated Gatsby and always talked about how mean he was, but he wasn't. He loved our family and no one else. He barked a lot but that was only bevause he wanted to protect us. He was special to my whole family, especially to my mother. His two very best friends in the world were my mom and our terrior mix, Gus. I can still remember the day that Gatsby and Gus both ran away and two hours later, we found them. They were standing at the corner of our street and they were still together. And then I can remember his funeral. He was almost fifteen so I knew that the end could be soon, but there was no way I could prepare myself. He had a brain tumor and I still remember that horrible night when I sat with my sister, crying while my parents took him to the emergency vet. My mom came home later and promised me that he was going to be just fine. But the next day, he didn't come home. Gus was so sad and missed his best friend a lot. But Gatsby was a great dog until he left us. I remember the exact date: April 1st, 2006: Gus's birthday. The next morning when I found out that Gatsby wasn't with us any longer, I couldn't breath. I couldn't even cry. I just sat there, frozen. It felt like I'd just been stabbed. I'm getting that feeling now just writing about it. No one could replace The Great Gatsby.