Good-Bye to my Sweet Fenway

Dear Fenway,

I will never forget the first time I met you: I had ordered a ham sandwich from a nearby deli and was having lunch with your dad. I turned to talk to him and turned back to find a tiny dog running away with all the ham from the middle of my sandwich! It was so entertaining that I had to laugh. And it's that spirit that I have admired throughout the rest of your life.

You didn't need help onto the couch. You would let us know with a growl and bite. You didn't want your ears cleaned. You didn't want your nails clipped. You didn't want to be dried after a bath. I was able to handle my aggressive Akita with no problem, but I had to wear thick leather gloves to handle you. When Muggsy would go after your dear friend Chubbs, you would start biting his ankles, even though he outweighed you by 60 pounds. The vet was more frightened of you than Muggsy, in fact. That was my girl, always fighting.

You continued to fight when you were diagnosed with multiple myeloma two years ago, almost to the day. I will remember because that was one of the worst birthdays ever. And why did I suspect something was wrong? Because you cringed when Bammie ran at you rather than trying to take him out with a flurry of growls and snaps. That wasn't like you. I immediately took you to the vet. You were given a year and a half to live. You beat your diagnoses by more than six months. No one doubted that you would. You have more spirit than anyone I have ever met.

Throughout your illness, it always seemed that the worst thing you faced was still those damned ear infections. We had to take you to the vet every week for an ear cleaning, and boy, did you hate that (even though you loved the chicken sandwich at the end). After one visit where you lunged with your tiny body, legs going out, at the vet tech, she said, "I hope I'm as stubborn when I'm an old lady," and I thought, "Me too!" I've gained so much strength from having you in my life. I will always fight when I feel I am being wronged, and I will think of you.

But you are not just a fighter. You were also a sweet, kind friend. Even though you were Robby's dog, we shared a special bond. You would follow me room to room, even toward the end, your wide, inquisitive eyes following me wherever I went. You had to be by my side, no matter what I was doing, and you would sprint to the door with the big boys, even when your legs were going out, hoping I would choose you to take in the car every time I tried to leave.

And, of course, my favorite memories of you will be those of your playfulness. I loved taking you to the park and letting you off leash to watch you run. You would sniff far away from me, stop to see where I was, and sprint across the park, your back legs flying out behind you, to catch up with me. Then you would run alongside me, growling and snapping, trying to engage me in a game. We would run along together, you stopping only to roll in the grass, making the funniest noises I've ever heard.

You brought me so many gifts that I will never forget, and every day, I will miss crowding into the corner of the couch, looking at you lying there beside me. You left behind a huge space on both the couch and in my heart that will never be filled. You were everything I had ever hoped my daughter will be, and I will miss you desperately.

I love you, girlie.

Love, Mom