Thirteen years just was not enough time. You ran like the wind, my sweet girl. You reveled in running the deer out of our yard, trying to herd the rabbits, and (my personal favorite) murdering mice in the barn. Occasionally you just couldn’t help yourself and chased the ducks. Our neighbors and delivery drivers will think they’ve arrived at the wrong house without you to announce their presence. You had all the vitality and drive in the world, but you couldn’t outrun the cancer. I knew exactly what kind of dog I wanted, and I waited until I found you; I couldn’t have chosen better. You gave the best snuggles, and I will sincerely miss the way you placed your head in my lap wanting loves. You were awful at pictures, looking like you were in trouble every time we tried to capture just you on camera. But, as I look back at my photos, you are always in them. You were right there in the middle of the action, snuggled up with the family, or intently watching over us. You were wound into the fabric of our family, and it feels like someone cruelly pulled the string to unravel us today. The last thing I always did when I left, without fail, was to ask, “Is Lo Lo in the house?” Even if someone told me she was, I had to go find her to make sure. It’s going to be painful beyond belief to automatically think that question, only to remind myself that she is not. When I arrive in heaven, I hope you come to greet me in Our Father’s House to let me know that you are, in fact, home.