On Valentine's Day when I was 7 my grandma picked my sisters and I up from school and brought us home for lunch. She said that my parents had to go out to do some business thing or something. Halfway through lunch my parents arrived home and this little white puppy came running into the family room, jumping all over us and wagging her tail like it was about to fall off. On account of the day, we named her Valentine.
Today we just got back from putting her to sleep at the vets. She was 15 and she had a good, long life and she was starting to really deteriorate quickly so it was unfair to keep her alive any longer.
This should make it hurt less, but it doesn't.