In memory of my fat, funny, fur baby Flossy. A fine dog indeed. 7 years gone and the ache remains inside my heart. She was a good girl.

She's been gone over 7 years now and I still catch her in the corner of my eye when the light is just right. I still smell her terrible breath that all the dental cleaning and vet visits in the world couldn't fix. I still keep the bathroom door closed because she was obsessed with shredding toilet paper. I still reach for her at 2am to give me comfort after a nightmare. 12 years together until one day, so suddenly, that sweet little heart started failing. The vet didn't think she would make it another month. So we pumped her full of drugs to make her feel as normal as possible and I scheduled the day to break my own heart. We spent that week doing anything and everything to make her last days her best days. We did a "lick it" list, where she got to eat all the stuff she ever wanted. I used my vacation time and stayed with her. I had professional photos taken of her. Friends and family brought her foods and ear scritchie scratches all week. She spent her mornings taking car rides with her head out the window, and her afternoons laying in the grass with the sun on her tummy. But still, she declined quickly. There was no doubt by the end of the week, it was time. She went out so peacefully. Stoned, with a full belly, wrapped in loving arms. May we all be that lucky.

I've adopted another since her and I adore our little rescue chihuahua Skeeter, but there will never be another Flossy. Never.