Last July I had to bury my precious 15 1/2 year old dog. She showed up here as a tiny half starved puppy in January of 1990. Three weeks later my 14 year old dog died, he pretty much gave up when Missy passed away. These dogs were much more than pets. They have been loyal friends and companions through some of the most difficult times of my life. They were there through the deaths of several family members, a broken heart, several legal battles over the possession of my home and most recently a serious illness followed by an almost crippling spinal injury. I felt like a piece of my soul had been taken away.
A few months ago I heard of some puppies born in the community. The mother's owner was going to kill them since they were unwanted. I begged him to let me have the puppies; I even offered to take the mother to my house so she could wean them there. Well, I got Molly and Jake who are now just over three months old and spoiled rotten. Their idea of housebreaking is to completely destroy everything I own. But, right now, seeing them peacefully sleeping on my bed, Molly curled up on the pink satin feather pillow I use to support my neck, I can't think of any better gift. In some ways I think they were sent here by my two departed friends, they were probably conceived shortly before they died. Jake had two heart shaped spots on his back when he was tiny, even though they are now hardly recognizable as hearts, I still think of Missy and Bernie every time I pet Little Jake. My Christmas present was the gift of the unconditional love we get from dogs.