This is for pet owners, whose pets mean the world to them.
Meet Dakota. She’s a teeny, tiny Yorkie with a huge personality. We’ve been pals for sixteen years – she was my baby before my babies.
Over the years Dakota’s age has caught up with her – a serious hip dislocation (twice, though the second time it mysteriously corrected itself), the loss of nearly all of her teeth resulting in a persistent dangling tongue and the loss of sight. She is bedraggled and probably won’t win any beauty contests. But, I love her.
Dakota has an incredible appetite for being less than three pounds of skin and bones. She barks – incessantly – when she’s hungry or thirsty. Then, I hand feed her or carry her to her water bowl. This happens day and night. In the middle of most nights (sometimes twice during the night), I squint my eyes to climb up our stairs, clamber over the retractable gate (formerly for kids, but now for her), squish her doggie meatball so she can swallow it, side step around an “accident” and then head back to bed. But, I love her.
She recognizes my voice and is always content in my arms. She’s always got a crackly dry kiss for me… because she loves me back.
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