Free Pure Joy by Danielle Steel Page B

know the recipient well, and how seriously they want a dog. But when it’s the right thing to do, there is nothing better and nothing sweeter than seeing the sheer joy on someone’s face when you give them a dog. I don’t know if I’ll ever do it again, but I cherish the memories of those I have given, and of how happy my friends and children were when they got them. It was really a blessing for them, and for me, and one that continues to bless for so many, many years.

Maxx’s beloved Annabelle

Cassio Alves

SEVEN

In Loving Memory
    There are endings and beginnings in life, new chapters, and old ones we remember fondly, with great tenderness. We don’t “replace” those we love, whether dogs or people—they remain part of our history. But new people and dogs come into our lives and add excitement and joy and help us live new chapters.
    For those who have loved a pet for many years, or even a shorter time, losing that pet can be incredibly sad. They fill a big space in our hearts, and leave a huge hole when they leave. And it’s not uncommon to see some brave, strong man cry over his lost dog. We all do.
    Dogs don’t live as long as people, so it is inevitable that no matter how much we love them, or how well we care for them, we will lose them one day. Some breeds are longer-lived than others (notably dachshunds and Chihuahuas, andsome terriers), which is something to consider. Small dogs almost always outlive big ones. Few big dogs live longer than ten or twelve years, while small dogs can make it to fifteen or sixteen, or even nineteen or twenty. And a few breeds are “heartbreak dogs,” notoriously English bulldogs and Great Danes, who frequently die young.
    I lost my first two black miniature Brussels griffons, Greta and Cookie, at thirteen. They were littermates and died within a few short months of each other. And their third sister died within weeks of them. They just ran out of gas and died peacefully, Greta of a heart attack in her sleep, and Cookie also in her sleep after a short illness. Both were fine until shortly before they died, and then they went straight downhill. There was no decision for us to make. Nature decided it for us—they were gone, and much missed. Cookie put on a good show till the end, but once she got sick, she declined rapidly. At times she seemed just too sick to hold on to any longer. We had to give her water and hand-feed her, and she could barely move, after a stroke. The vet had told us to get ready and bring her in whenever we felt the time was right. I finally decided that it wasn’t fair to keep her going any longer, so I made the three-block drive to the vet with a heavy heart, planning to end her misery. She perked up the minute we got there, looked around with suspicion, and practically jumped out of my arms whenthe vet walked in. She hopped all over the place and danced around and would have tap-danced if she could, with a look that said, “Me? I’m fine! Don’t be ridiculous! Just kidding!” The vet said she appeared to be doing great and sent us home, and I felt like an idiot. She pulled the same stunt two more times. She had no intention of going out under anyone’s steam but her own and died quietly one night in her sleep. But she had no desire to let us make the decision for her!
    We also lost my mother-in-law’s dog, Trixie, who lived with us for seven years after my mother-in-law passed away. As I’ve said, she was a big brown standard dachshund and a particularly uncharming dog. And lived forever, until she died peacefully at twenty-one. We didn’t realize at the time how our youngest daughter perceived that event. She was in nursery school, and at show and tell that day, she announced to her class that her daddy had put the dog in a box, buried it, and then it died. When I picked her up at school that afternoon, the teacher told me that I might want to straighten her out on the order of how things had happened, that the dog died and John buried her,