I couldn't write about her when she left us in July, but the passing of a few months has taken away some of the bite. Little dogs are precious and mine certainly fit that description for almost seventeen years, so it would be an injustice not to at least say a few words, even at the risk of causing some tears to fall.
She is buried in a rock garden down by the creek. A few summer roses linger nearby, along with some pansies I planted last weekend.
And that's all I can say about that.
And that's all I can say about that.