The worst part of moving is that you can’t find anything: I have a favorite photo of our boy Punch taken at a friend’s cottage where he is regal and calm and you really get a sense of his proud bearing. But the photo is eluding me this morning, this morning when I can’t sleep because the loss of him is still so fresh and raw. Mike and I said goodbye to our happy chappy last night, the cancer had taken too firm a hold of him. So I’m publishing the best shot I can find, taken in one of Punch’s favorite places with one of his favorite people, Mike.
Twelve years ago, when I decided I was ready to have dogs in my life I had hopes and expectations for what those dogs might be like; Punch exceeded them all. He was happy and affectionate, dopey and lovable, obedient and playful. Thank you, Punch, for everything; we did our best for you and you rewarded us handsomely.