Only now do I fully understand what those elderly women who never failed to approach me meant, when Button was young and vigorous, telling me how they enjoyed seeing her, for she reminded them of their own cherished relationship with a small, black dog that had entered their lives and changed them forever.  Their companion was long gone, but the memory of what they shared with that four-legged creature will never leave them.

And now, I am among them.

We have with us still, our toy poodle, an Apricot male, while our older miniature poodle has been absent from our lives for seven months.  Seven months of missing her presence in our lives.

Seven months in which we recall her in her younger days, as an energetic, curious little sprite who wanted to investigate everything she came across.  Seven months to remember how bold she was, how fleet of foot, how eager to please, how infused with her own personality that sometimes dictated she would not please.

We remember how in an excess of happiness with life she would race through wooded trails in an excitement of energy released, then take a running leap and end up nestled in my arms.  We remember how, as a tender puppy she trusted that the roach-back German Shepherd whose head was as large as her entire body, would gently nuzzle her, as she did him.

We remember the joy she gave us, the laughter that pealed through this house at her antics.  We remember the nineteen years and four months that she gave us, of her treasured presence.