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I'll never forget the day we met. When you strayed over to my neighbor's house, I was curious. I watched you from afar for a day or two. When they left for a vacation, they made the mistake of leaving you some food outside. I may be just a mutt, a lowly beagle/spaniel mix, but we're all opportunists, and I took advantage by wandering up and eating everything left out for you. You watched me in subdued silence, and while I was licking my chops, I said, "Hey little girl, why don't you follow me down to my house? It's fun there."

So when Master whistled me home, I trotted down the driveway with you in tow. At first we didn't know what to make of you, since you were such an ugly calico. You had a mark on your face that looked like someone hit you while wearing brass knuckles. So we named you "Knuckles" and you decided to stay.

I'll never forget the time you figured out how to open the refrigerator, and we gorged on raw venison and jerky until it felt like our bellies would pop. Remember how spicy it was? How we drank every drop of water we could find? I always felt guilty about that incident since you were banished to the basement afterwards.

I'll never forget the times we spent together in the basement, huddled together to keep warm while Master was out at work. We shared both blankets and beds and never complained. It's weird how I was more than twice as big as you but it seemed like you were always the one who kept me warm.

Luckily you were allowed back upstairs at dinnertime every night, and I'll never forget how we wrestled and played while waiting for Master to prepare our meals. I was always fed before you and finished first, so you got to eat up on the bar, where your food was out of reach of my curious nose.

I'll never forget watching you through the window as you stalked all manner of critters in the yard. Do you remember that time I ate the chipmunk you laid at the door to show Master what a good little hunter you were?

When you got sick, I didn't know how bad it was at first. We tried cleaning your wound every night, but it wouldn't heal. When the Doctor said, "It's cancer," I may have been more devastated than you. I knew your days were numbered, but you didn't seem to care that much.

I watched with morbid curiosity as Master made a box for you, out of an ash board from a log he milled himself. You probably spent time in that tree at one point during your 15 years wandering in the woods.

I'll never forget watching that box gently lowered into the ground and covered with soft, muddy dirt. It was a beautiful January day, the sun shone as the wind blew crisp. I'm old too, and may be joining you soon. But not right now. I need just a little more time to never forget.

Your friend forever, Mooch