April 14 marked the second year of our loss of our miniature poodle, Button. We had taken her to the emergency 24-hour animal hospital on the evening of Friday 13, 2012, and emerged hours later, into the morning hours of the following day, without her. Little did we realize that we were losing her at that time, but the sudden inexplicable and horribly violent seizure she had experienced that evening marked the end of her journey in life.

There is no comfort to be had in the knowledge that she shared our life for 19 years and four months. We wanted more of her presence, for a longer period of time, and we can only imagine that she too enjoyed whatever she could of life with her sharply diminished senses. Though blind and deaf she could still smell everything about her and 'feel' where she was. Though blind she never missed a day's walk in the woods with us, though she had to be guided with the use of a halter.

Without her presence we have memories of her as a puppy interested in everything around her, eager to explore, to have experiences, to be joyful and energetic. As a juvenile she was capable of outrunning dogs whose size and physiques suited them to speed and she was never loath to contest them, always the winner.

She was a magnificent companion to us, sharing our undiluted love of the outdoors, whether it was through close-to-home adventures or going considerable distances. She was able to climb the same mountain peaks we managed, despite her size, an eager little quadruped. Her endurance and determination expressed her qualities as a persistently reliable little soul, intrepid beyond our expectations.

On the night of the second anniversary of her leaving us we lit a candle to her memory. It is a tradition in the Jewish religion, although we are not religious. Each month, actually, on the 14th, a candle is lit. But we speak of her, recalling her exploits and her companionship on a far more frequent basis than that.

We look at the puppies and young dogs that other people bring with them into the ravine close to our house for their walking exercise, and admire their freshness and exuberance. Perhaps it's attributable to our chronological age, but we don't feel able to do as so many others mourning the loss of a beloved companion do, and acquire another in its place to salve the wound.

And then, of course, we have our other little dog, a pugnacious, sometimes-cranky, unadventurous little male poodle named Riley, whom we also cherish.