  My family, a friend of mine, and myself were enjoying a weekend up at the lake. On Saturday night at approximately 10:45 p.m. one of our two dogs, a small yorkshire terrier was let out through the garage to go to the bathroom. Suddenly barks, then yelping were heard by my mother. Then silence. My mom called for my dad, and said that Tippy (that is the dog's name, it's my twelve-year-old sister's dog and she named it), had been attacked. I of course heard, and went for my gun, hoping to ward off any attacking foe. But this was not the case. Our dog was laying on the grass only a few yards from the garage door, on his side. His back had been broken.
There were two dogs, and two ladies that couldn't have given a shit less. Their damn dogs killed our beloved five year old dog, and they acted like nothing was wrong saying comments like "Oh gee! What on Earth happened to that poor little dog? Why did it just tip over like that!? " Well, your dog just killed it. Fortunately he was still breathing and alive, but shortly after we got on the road to the vet's office, he passed away. Tragic... Bye for now, NATE 
