she's not my dog any more than she is anyone else's, she just happens to be my favorite. she's the second dog of ours i remember; the first has been dead a while. ignore the fact that the other one won all the ribbons and trained for search-and-rescue - she's the smartest. ignore the fact that the other other one is the tiny fluffy one - she's the cutest. she's the one that always curled on my bed, feet up in the air and tongue rolling, the one that wiggled until she fell over when i pet her.

she's nearly blind now and deaf more than that. there's a tumor the size of a baseball under one leg and a sore on her foot where she chews obsessively. she didn't recognize me when i came home. a moment ago, she was engaged in trying to knock over that strange dog in the mirror, but she stopped suddenly, confused, and bumped along the wall on her way out.
i think i might cry.