You were born on June 16, 1989, and came into my life August 26, 1989, when you were almost 10 weeks old. As I drove you home that beautiful summer day, I started crying and could not stop. I actually cried so hard that I had to pull off the road. On what should have been a very happy day, I looked at a wiggly waggly ball of fluff and all I could think was that one day you were going to break my heart. And that day came on December 21, 2004.

I miss your sunny disposition. I miss our coast-to-coast explorations. I miss your climbing up on the back of the sofa and sitting on my head. I miss seeing you wag your tail in your sleep. I miss visiting nursing homes with you and seeing you charm the residents. I miss your whacking me with your paw to get even more attention. I miss your fresh-from-the-groomer smell. I miss your pulling off my glove and running up to the front door when we arrived home after a winter walk. I miss calling you and having you run into my arms. I miss your meal time tap dance. I miss hearing your “I’m content” sigh. I miss seeing you play in the snow, the only time you did not mind having wet feet. I miss your shredding the toilet paper and pulling the innersoles out of all my shoes. I miss your trying to hide your bones in the sofa. I miss your asking to be picked up when you smelled something scary outside. I miss your walking on the retaining wall at Downtown Park. I miss your Puffaerobics -- rolling on your back, kicking your hind legs, and doing the Bichon pump with your front legs. I miss holding you. I miss your kisses. I miss seeing you run with your head so erect and your tail streaming out behind. I miss seeing your beaming face when I arrive home. I miss hearing you squeak your toys. I miss your attacks of “happy feet.” I miss everything about you, and I am not sure life will ever be the same.

Rest in peace my dear, sweet Puff. I hope I was worthy of you.