An earlier story told of our “Chiquita,” but failed to detail our previous dog, my sweet Spuds. Yep – she was named after the Budweiser dog due to her black and white fur. We had her since she was a pup. My oldest son, Carlos, was 7 years of age when we got her. God graced us with her presence for nearly 16 wonderful years. The day she died, we had discussed having her put down as her organs were starting to give out.

We didn’t have to make that decision. She lay on her usual spot outdoors in the sun and breathed her last. My guilt in all of this was that I wasn’t there when she died. My oldest son, who was then 23, had some buddies who had just gotten out of the Navy. I had taken him to join them in a “Rally for the Troops,” and got caught up in the fanfare of it all. When I returned home, Spuds was gone. We had this lovely creature cremated and my son buried her ashes under a rose bush in our front yard. My Husband told me that on the way to the Humane Society to arrange for her cremation, my son, Carlos, cried. Four years later, we adopted Chiquita, and life is good. Thanks for listening.

Dorothy from TX