We lost our beloved Angel Michelle the morning of July 14th, 2008. We'll miss our 'butterfly dog'...

When our Golden Retriever, Angel Michelle, was diagnosed with terminal bone cancer in June 2007 our family was devastated. She was only eight years old, and except for a slight swelling on her right knee, behaved and looked healthy. Angel had always been a good dog, though a bit nervous around loud noises. During her puppy years and beyond we were careful not to yell at one another because we 'might upset the dog', which proves pets help us become better people. She's the only dog I've ever had that gives a toothy smile, puckers the skin between her eyes when she's fretful and grumbles like a parakeet trying to talk. We often swear some of those grumbles and warbles are identifiable words. How could we cope with losing such a unique personality from our family? While watching Angel sleep one morning, I suddenly realized that I've learned more about living life from Angel than any human could've taught me. She was deep in slumber when her legs moved, her tail thumped and her shoulder twitched. I was certain she dreamed she was running down one of the many trails we'd taken her on before her cancer, or perhaps she was visualizing a swim in the lakes we'd taken her to. I observed a very happy, peaceful dog at that moment. All the memories we'd built with her were now priceless gifts she could re-visit in her mind, in spite of her ailing body. I realized we'd done things right, with her and our children, by taking time to build lots of wonderful memories. Those memories would be there for us, ready to draw upon when we were at an age when physical disabilities might permanently limit our mobility. Had a human pointed out this nugget of wisdom I would've rolled my eyes and assumed they read too many self help books. Dogs are so much better at showing us the way to true happiness, and their timing is perfect, often coming at that moment when we feel life is at its darkest. I no longer worry about how Angel isn't expected to live past December. She's already made it far beyond all expectations, and she's reminded me so many times how her most blissful moments are just lying her head in my lap while I stroke her face. Even on the day we had to increase her pain medication she lifted her head and licked my chin, peering up at me with those eyes that said; "I know you're doing everything you can for me...and I assure you it's good enough."