Peggy was in Dallas with her father who was in hospice care. Mike had finished the tenth grade and was in Katy with me.

We had a wonderful old dog named Tater who had just been put to sleep a couple of weeks before. Tater, like all of our pets, was a rescue. I got her as a puppy after someone abandoned her at the firehouse. A fireman friend of mine called me and asked if I would take her.

Mike was only five weeks old at the time, so I didn’t ask Peggy. I went and got the puppy from the firehouse. And then I slept with her in the kitchen for a week so her crying wouldn’t wake up the baby.

Tater lived to be sixteen, and Mike knew her for literally his entire life. The boy needed a new dog.

Mike and I went and started looking at rescue dogs. When we found one we thought was cute we would text a picture of the dog to Peggy. While she was sitting with her dying father. Who thought it was hilarious that we were sending dog pictures to Peggy while she sat with him.

Twelve years ago we got a two-year old rescue dog named Alice. I changed the name to Allie — seriously, who names a dog Alice?! — and Peggy was spared a lifetime of “to the moon” references. Three years later we discovered that Allie was severely diabetic. The vet told us that dogs with diabetes do not live more than about two years after they are diagnosed.

Peggy gave her insulin shots — more insulin than human diabetics take — twice a day. And they developed a special bond. So special that Peggy forgave Mike and me for sending her pictures of Allie while she was sitting with her dying father. Who thought it was hilarious.

Allie beat that two-year prognosis by more than nine years. We had to put her down this morning after she had a stroke and lost the use of her hind legs. I am so glad that I was home to be with her and to make the decision with Peggy. But it hurts.

She loved her Mama and she loved her cats and we will miss her every day. Sleep well, my good girl.