My little cocker mix showed up as a half-grown pup, starved and skittish... throughout her 16 year life, she'd start to throw up and act stressed when I was packing. I had her in college, moving back and forth between school and home a couple times a year, so it happened a lot.
One of the things that I worried most about in prison was my dog. He was already a pretty old dog when I was incarcerated and sadly did not survive until my release. He lived with my parents until he died. I ride motorcycles and often rode mine to commute. My dad tells me that until he passed away my dog would always run to the front gate when he heard a motorcycle approach and would mournfully look after it as it passed.
While he loved to play fetch and chase frisbees when I played with him, he never again did that once I left. My dad says that he was a faithful companion to him and vigilant watchdog, but he was forever morose and sad.
I am sorry that irresponsibility of my actions put him through that.