Samantha
When I was riding home from the shelter that New Year's Eve Eve in 1995, I was taking with me someone who would be my friend, companion, guard and rock for the next 16 1/2 years. She looked like a baby Rin Tin Tin, all squirmy and fluffy and beautiful.
She was a wonderful puppy, graduated with honors from puppy school, learned everything I asked her to, but when she hit 6 months she found her inner CAT and from then on this was not a dog that wanted to please me, but a brat that regarded me as staff. She could catch anything from a softball to a chewed up disgusting pine cone in the back yard and we sometimes threw for what seemed hours. There were dozens of squeaky toys in the house and always one in her mouth when she greeted me at the door. Sometimes I'd throw one downstairs and she would come back with 3 or 4 of them crammed in her mouth. Nothing was quite as much fun as chasing the cats, although a couple of them refused to run.
Samantha was my rock; she sat by my side on 9/11, was there to comfort me when I recovered from a broken ankle and cancer in the same year. The night there was a fire that killed the three cats and heavily damaged the house, she and the other dogs were able to escape through the front door when the fire department arrived. A couple of hours later after everyone had left I saw a shadow move in the doorway and she had walked back into the house and was standing in the burned-out kitchen.
She was fine until about age 15, then arthritis caught up and took her hind legs. At the end she could no longer use them and she was in a lot of pain. I have some ability at animal communication and she let me know when it was time. That last weekend we sat together and laughed and cried at all of the times we'd had and then on April 16, 2012 I took my best friend to the vet's office for the last time.
I should probably edit this more and make it perfect, but all I really want to say is sleep well, baby girl, I miss you