Jazz When we first got a dog, she was just a couple weeks old. A tiny little dachsund, smaller than the palm of my hand. This was in 1996. We called her Jazz.

At night, she slept in a big box under the telephone desk. After a while, she discovered that she could charge at the inside and push the box out, eventually knocking it over and getting out. My bedroom was one level up from the kitchen, and with enough effort, Jazz would climb the enormous stairs and sneak into my room. After that, she slept with me every night until I moved out to the city in 2000.

Today, her hair is mostly white, her hearing mostly gone, and her vision deteriorating. And still to this day, when she hears me or sees me, she comes immediately. I remember many times telling her problems and secrets, and feeling a bit better thinking that she understood. Still treating me no differently. This is what love is.  ¶ 9:53 AM