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In Memory of Jazzy

Back in 2004, my future husband stopped to pet a Frenchie in the park. He got to chatting with the owner, who just so happened to know of a failed breeding dog that needed a new home. One thing led to another, and he became the proud new guardian of a slightly used French bulldog. She was a ridiculous, smoosh-faced, smelly little thing who was shaky and scared but still willing to give kisses and silly little snorts.

Over the next year, she blossomed into a true city girl, and would strut through the neighborhood like she owned the place. We took her for long walks on the beach, dressed her in silly outfits, and cheered her on as she attempted to eviscerate her beloved stuffed octopus (she never did succeed, but not for lack of trying.) As the years passed, her muzzle got whiter and her bones got creakier, but she never lost her playfulness or love for her people. She ran to greet us when we came home, got underfoot in the kitchen as we tried to cook, jumped in our laps as we sat on the couch, and slept nestled at our feet. What she lacked in smarts (she had a penchant for walking into solid objects) she made up for in personality. And kisses. Lots and lots of kisses.

She was twelve years old when she lost her battle with cancer. She was ours for six of those years, and we loved every minute. Thank you, little dog, for teaching us that life is simple and silly and above all fun. We miss you and love you forever.

~Amber and Brian