This is Buffy. You might call her a dog. But you'd be wrong.
She is my child-with-fur, my PITA (pain-in-the-ass), my fur-baby. She likes to drink my coffee and chew on kleenex. She hates snow and loves napping in a puddle of sunlight. She hogs the bed and steals the covers. She hates being awakened from a nap. She'll lick the face off of anyone who will let her on their lap. She buries dog biscuits in the couch and dances in circles for a Pupperoni. She sometimes attacks the TV when she sees another dog on it. She has patiently let nieces and nephews pull her ears and chew on her tail. She is terrified of the linoleum floor in the kitchen and is happiest curled up next to me on the sofa. During my darkest days, I knew when I got home I could count on her to cuddle on my lap. For 12 years she has blessed me with her patience, trust and unconditional love.
She's not just a dog . . . and for that, I'm grateful.
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