In April of 1999, for my little sister's 10th birthday, we adopted Fluffy. My sister had her heart set on a Maltese and this sweet one had already had three or four homes before he settled in ours. I don't know if we ever knew exactly how old he was, but we called him "puppy" pretty much until he passed away early this morning.

Fluffy was an important part of our lives for over twelve years. He was the deputy guard dog, the eager greeter of all visitors and loved Grandma's lap most of all. If he had his way, Fluffy would have spent his whole life in your arms. If we ever stood around talking in the kitchen, he would run back and forth from person to person barking until someone scooped him up. He just wanted to be a part of the conversation.

I believe he had a happy life, though he had his problems. He developed an allergy to grass and would like his paws until his soft white hair would turn pink. In the last few years he developed cataracts, then had to have all but two of his teeth pulled. We suspect he also lost his hearing suddenly. Through all of it, he was the sweet companion to my parents who would run to the door when they came home and had a place at the foot of the bed. He also managed a truce with the two cats of the house even though they relished dive bombing him when he walked by. Fluffy learned quickly, however, and made a habit of backing up before he would come back through the sliding door after being let out. He was just getting a running start.

The last time I was home I suspected he didn't have a ton of time left. I optimistically thought he could make it to Christmas so I could say a proper goodbye. I know he's at peace now and hopefully he earned all his teeth back and can run and play without dodging any felines.

Goodbye Puppy, I'm going to miss you.