76 years

After my father died last weekend, we stopped by his house. Tiny Dog loved my dad, loved to clean his nostrils, insisted on sitting on his lap.

She went up to his chair and loveseat and looked for him, looked confused. Where is the guy that lets me sit on his chest and calls me Chippy?

There is too much grief to write now. But bless Dad in how he always opened his heart to all my dogs over the years.

Here is a joint nap from July, Tiny Dog busy with nail care, happy in her proximity to Dad.