31 October 1991 - 1 July 2008
I wrote this 5 days ago during the tear-soaked night I realized you have so little time left with me. You were always such a furry streak of lightning that the thought of you getting old was unfathomable. I always rather fancied that one day you'd expire of sheer exuberance after one of our marathon fetch sessions. Like any mortal creature, though, you have lived long enough to be betrayed by your superb little body. As your back limbs became impaired, you've stalwartly muddled through on what looks like grim determination, and that grit alone has made me never want to let you go. I've prayed every day since I wrote this that today wouldn't be the day I have to choose to let you go. I didn't get the easy option of not choosing, though. In the end it's not a question of my selfish need to keep you but of the intolerable sight of one of the world's most intrepid creatures peering out through a haze of pain and bewilderment.
You taught me so much about life and about love. You made me realize I could love a little dog more than any material possession on earth. You have been the embodiment of what I see as the very best of myself. I know in some ways I haven't been the best mistress, but I've tried to learn as I've gone along and you've always seemed so happy with me. I will always remember fondly and miss that moment every night when you'd curl up under the covers by my feet. I'll always remember the countless funny things you did, our silly little rituals and the quirky secret society populated by you and I alone.
Thank you for everything, Valentine. Thank you for being mine.
If I live to be 100, you'll forever be my one and only little bunny dog. I'll always treasure the memory of you. Life without you will be less sweet, but I'll always remember what you've taught me, and I'll carry you in my heart, always.