Dear Juliet

Dear Juliet, There are no words that can accurately describe how much I miss you. Not that it matters; the only words you ever cared about were food, eat, ride, and ball (pretty much in that order.) The house is incredibly quiet without you here. I miss the "click, click, click" sound of your nails on the floor. I miss you jumping up on my side of the bed at 5:00 am to wake me up to give you your breakfast. I miss having to step over you laying on the bath mat after my shower. I miss you "nagging" me every two minutes to give you your eye medicine so you could get your chew treat. What I miss more than anything though, is coming home at the end of the day and having you greet me, your little stub of a tail wagging furiously, while you danced around the kitchen in joy! I know that most of that excitement was because you knew it was almost time for dinner, but at least you made my homecoming a jubilant one! Aaron is trying his best to make up for your absence. He has been waking us up in the morning to feed him even though he could really care less about eating. He is meowing more and going outside with Ian, rolling in the grass and exploring. We can't seem to get him to chase a ball, though, which is probably the second thing I miss most about you. You were the best ball chaser I have ever seen! You might have been short, but when there was a ball involved you could run like a cheetah across the Serengetti, sometimes rolling head over tail because you were just moving too fast for your long, chubby body. But you would ALWAYS get the ball--no matter if you were bleeding from your mouth and feet, you were determined to "get that ball" (as Paul would say.) Paul misses you as much as I do, by the way. You won his heart quickly and thoroughly. He was reluctant at first but fell in love with your sweet, affectionate, charming Corgi ways. You were so awesome, in fact, he has agreed that life without a Corgi is no life at all. Not that you could ever be replaced. Ian said, "There will never be another dog like Ju Ju" and that is so true. I guess everyone feels that way about their own dog but that doesn't make it any less profound. Dogs, like people, are individuals, and the relationship they have with their humans is unique and precious and can never be replicated. I have to say that many who came to know you, though, found you extraordinary. When Laurie Farrell, the Vet who treated you at CAVES, found out you died, you left a tearful message on our answering machine, extending her sympathy and commenting on how "precious" you were. Dr. Julian was also very upset that you died. He really got to know you over those last few days of your life, and even when you were so sick, you managed to charm him. He said you were "a tough little dog" and saw your grace through all of your challenges. I think the person who described you best was Dr. Fiona Reeves when she told us it was really difficult for her to tell if you were in any pain (regarding one of your many illnesses or accidents) because you had such a "generous spirit". Even when you were sick, you were affectionate. When you were hurt, you were forgiving. When you were lonely, you were unselfish. You always gave more than you got and were unwaveringly kind and felicitous to everyone who crossed your path. I will never forget you, my good girl. The pain of your absence will subside over time, as pain always does, but there will always be a void in my life that will not be filled until we are united on the Rainbow Bridge!