In 1968 Charlie and I bought a small black puff of fur we named Wilhelmina
that grew into the most spoiled toy poodle in the world.  She lived until
1983.  I was bereft when she died as we had been extremely close for fifteen
years.  If I was sitting down or sleeping she was right next to me.  Always.

After a few months we found another golden ball of fur we named Brandie
Alesandra.  She was smart and independent.  A delight to train.  And turned
out to be a very good and easy Mamma dog as well.  She had two puppies at a
time for five litters, and we kept the two little girls from the last
litter.  We named the babies Taffee and Sugar.  That was over seventeen
years ago.  And for several years the three little golden poodles ruled our
home and our life.  Taffee and Sugar looked so much alike that I could not
tell them apart from across the room if they were newly clipped.  And felt
to different I could tell them apart at the slightest touch.  Taffee died a
year ago.

Yesterday I finally had to make the choice that Sugar was too ill and in too
much pain to have any benefit in extending her life.  She had been deaf and
blind for years and suffering from congestive heart failure, but still
managed to enjoy cuddles and sunshine warmth.  And just being close.  There
won't be any more poodles for us.  Its the right choice but it still breaks
my heart.  For close to thirty seven years now, there has been a little
curly head close by.  Wanting a cuddle or a snack or a walk.  Or just
someone to curl up next to.

Jo