-- by Angela (Vito and Bo's mom)
(Click here to see Little as Pet of the Day)
I'll never forget the sight of my dad, coming out from the puppy room at the Animal Rescue League with a little bundle of black fur in the palm of his hand. "How about this one?" he asked.
It was May 28, 1984- I was 12, and my brother was 7. We were at the Animal Rescue League because Pretty Girl had died. Pretty Girl was a parakeet, though certainly not an average one; among other tricks, she would hop into my brother's Matchbox cars to ask for a ride. When Pretty Girl had to be put to sleep because of a tumor that was about to burst, my brother went into a deep depression and stopped eating. My mom took him to the pediatrician, and the doctor advised us to get a dog.
Little had been born on April 4, 1984; she was the runt and the last of her litter remaining at the ARL. She was irresistible, and we brought her home. She had a near-fatal bout of parvo soon after we adopted her, but, as she would continue to do throughout her life, she battled the illness and won.
As the years went on, Little became the "mom" of the house. She would make her rounds before bed, poking her head into everyone's bedroom to make sure all was in order before going off to sleep herself. As small as she was, you would never have known it by her bark- I always felt a little safer knowing that she would alert me to any strange noises during the night. She wasn't the most affectionate dog, but she was especially perceptive- she had that special dog's way of knowing exactly when you needed her to come and sit beside you, or to offer a gentle doggie kiss or two. She had a quiet dignity about her- Queen Elizabeth, my friend called her, and it fit. She was a mutt of about 57 varieties, and sometimes when we would go for walks, people would point and giggle at her funny little shape, but she would hold her head up high and preen for the onlookers, certain that they were admiring her beauty.
Little suffered from small, benign tumors through most of her life, which we had removed on a regular basis. But in 1996, a larger tumor was detected, and this one was malignant and growing, crowding her internal organs. In addition, she had developed heart problems and going under anesthesia for surgery would be fatal. The doctor told us it was only a matter of time, and asked if it was time to put her down. I took one look into my Little's determined eyes and knew that nobody could make that decision for her until she gave us a sign that she was ready to stop fighting. She took several different medications every day for the next two years and remained comfortable and active, until the last few months of her life when the medicine started to become ineffective. She started to cough more consistently, and on the morning of February 28, 1998, her legs gave out on her- she laid down and looked up as if to ask if anything could stop the pain. It was time to say goodbye.
Her heart was so unselfish- through all of her own pain, she never failed to offer her gentle support through the most difficult times. She is sadly and lovingly missed.
For anyone who has ever lost a beloved pet, the Pet Loss Grief Support Page is a great resource.
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