My wonderful bulldog Phoebe made her journey to the Bridge today, wrapped in my and Carolyn's arms and with instructions to look up Logan and tell him I love him and entrust her to his care... just as nearly 11 years earlier she had been entrusted to mine. 

Logan was Phoebe's father, and from the time she came home from the breeder at nine weeks old they lived all of their lives together as if they knew of that special bond.  Phoebe was to have been our show puppy and foundation bitch, but it was evident early on that she was not show or breeding quality.  Most of the breeders in our club urged us to place her in a pet home.  But I was hopelessly in love with this wonderful little puppy and I wouldn't have parted with her for the world.  I wanted to name her BoneBandit's Thief of Hearts because everyone who met this charming little girl fell in love with her.  One of her most endearing, and most unforgettable qualities were the little noises she made as she ate, drank water, or sniffed something.  High pitched little snarfy noises that turned into a high pitched very loud snore when she slept.  From the time she was a baby, she was the master of cute noises.

Always a gentle soul, our divorce and having to move from the only home she had known was hard on her and she became nervous and fearful.  When Logan, Phoebe and I moved to the east coast and her home life settled down, she once again became the patient, elegant girl she had been as a puppy.  When Logan died, she mourned him for months.  When she came out of it she was regal and serene... my vet called her the zen bulldog.

Her illness seemed like it was a rapid onset, but it had probably been insidiously creeping in for some time.  All of the tests  were inconclusive.  And her last week was made more miserable as the result of a test that nearly cost her life.  In the end, my vet believed that she had cancer lurking somewhere given her family history and the way the illness progressed.  I did the only thing possible, which was to relieve her misery.  The fact that she was gone made the reason of no importance.

I'm sure I'll get used to the silence around here and having the entire bed to myself... but it's going to take a while. And she will never have to struggle to take a breath again or feel so sick that she turns down roast beef.  I was blessed to have had her for nearly eleven years, and to be able to give her peace with her dignity and beauty intact. 

Lynda Lacono
March 13, 2003

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