My brown-eyed girl

"Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really." ~Agnes Sligh Turnbull

I was just out of college when I met my girl. She was a beautiful little ball of black fluff with big brown eyes. 

Her litter was up for adoption at an event I was at, her family history was a mystery, her mom a stray. 

She was the last one in the litter. I had spent the day trying to convince myself I didn't need a dog yet.

But I loved her from the first moment. And she was better than the best dog I could have ever asked for. 

We stopped on the way home and got her a crate (it was much too big), a collar, a harness, food, and a green frog toy. 

I settled on the name Luna, after bouncing a few around, because she was beautiful and black as night. In my head, the name moon was fitting. I often called her Luna Belle, because Belle and Bella were other names I considered.

Over the years, she was also Luna Bug, Luna-toona, Luna-bo-boona ... the list goes on. 

Potty training her was a breeze. She started crate trained, then I would leave her out after her middle of the night break. One night, I realized she'd been outsmarting me, asking to go out earlier and I hadn't realized because I had been doing the breaks without my glasses. After that, I let her be crate optional.

She lived with me in Knoxville. She was there for my late nights and long days, the days when I thought I'd never get through and I melted down. She had a best dog friend who was a Malamute and another who was an English Lab. She would carry sticks back to the apartment, look for squirrels in the trees, loved to hang out on the porch, and always preferred a good corner to sleep in. She hated dog parks, but loved park walks.

I taught her a few tricks in those early days. Her shake trick even won us second place in the Casey Apple Festival Dog Show. We lost to a dog who did some crazy air jump to catch a ball. But I was still so very proud of her.

Luna was my companion as we moved back home, unsure of what was coming. She wasn't much of a country dog, my mom would tease, because she always barked at the cows across the street at night.

She moved with me to Danville, my great fluffy calm in the midst of all the chaos of adulting. 

She was the first one to meet Jim, a participant in our first "non-professional" outing -- a walk in the park. Luna loved him right away, although he always joked he was sneaking her treats when I wasn't looking.

Before her brother dog came to live with her and I, she had already given approval. They'd met several times, because he was neglected by his owner, a neighbor who would leave him out at all hours and for days off a busy road. They agreed to let me have him and he fit right in. 

Sometimes I think she regretted the choice -- he loved to velcro to her side. But she was patient with him. Most of the time, anyway.

Even after he grew into those ears and outgrew her, she still ruled the house. She was my little Diva, the Queen, and definitely in charge of him. They had an odd bond, but a sweet one.

When we moved to our house in Junction, her favorite spots became behind Jim's chair and under M's bed. Even if we closed the door to keep her out, she'd either push it open or bark to be let in. We finally surrendered. But if it was a firework night, she was behind her dad's chair.

She loved to chase a ball. But was terrible at bringing it or any toy back. Instead, you had to chase her. The chase was her favorite part, I think, because we were always chasing her through the house for toys.

She survived two cancer scares, putting her through two surgeries to remove tumors. Both were benign and one left her without a spleen. She had a few missing teeth, from another surgery. She eventually had some gray, although her brother always had more. Everyone thought she was younger because of her spunk and playfulness.

Luna was sassy and sweet and never lost that spunk. Once, when our cat Spaz was still alive, she startled him by running full charge at him, then jumping over at the last minute. It looked like Donkey from Shrek, because of her tiny legs and barrel body. I think the cat was so very confused by it and I never saw her do it again. 

My niece, her birthday buddy, always says Luna was one of her favorite dogs because she was so playful. Even at the age of 14, she'd have her moments of play, chasing her brother and hiding toys.

Bubble wrap was one of her favorite things. She never chewed it, just daintily popped the bubbles. Despite being a little boxy and having an alligator chomp, she was a dainty girl in many ways. 

I have a million stories about my girl. But the common theme is, she was the best dog ever.

"Everyone thinks they have the best dog. And none of them are wrong."―W.R. Purche

She loved people so much. I always said she was more of a people dog than a dog dog. Our vet always said she was always one of his favorites, because she was always happy to see him.

Even in the end, the staff who cared for her said she was sweet, giving everyone kisses.

And she did, giving me some kisses too and getting some from her brother before she left us. 

I don't know if dogs go to heaven. But if they do, I know she's there now, giving her dad kisses and making him chase for the toys. Maybe playing with Spaz the cat and looking for squirrels. 

Last week, I read a post that said, "Don't forget somewhere between hello and goodbye, there was love. So much love." 

That is absolutely true. So much love for and from my girl. She loved everyone she met and rarely met a stranger. 

Goodbye to my best girl, my heart dog, and the one I'll absolutely never forget. Thanks for being a great dog. I'll miss you, my sweet Luna Bug.