Am I a bad person? I killed "it" with my own hands.

When I was young, I loved dogs of all breeds. I can't even remember how many nights I spent sleeping with little puppies. I adopted many dogs, including two that were sick, and I want to tell you about them today.

Little Tiger (dog's name) had a long face, a wide forehead, and black and yellow fur. When I first saw him, he was sick, walking with a limp and occasionally collapsing. I took care of him for about 20 days, being very patient and attentive. I fed him, gave him water, and even gave him human cold medicine when his will to live seemed strong. Unfortunately, he didn't make it, and I buried him, marking his grave with a stone.

Little White (dog's name) was all white, which is why I named him that. When I found him, his eyes were full of tears and he was sniffling. I naively thought his owner had abandoned him, making him sad. Unlike the first dog, Little White refused to eat anything. I tried to force-feed him meat several times, but he would vomit it up. When I gave him water in a small bowl, he would dramatically fall into it, as if trying to drown himself. This happened for three days until I finally lost my patience and threw him into a small pond. I was 8 years old that year