I don’t remember what the exact date was.

What I do remember was that it was either at the very end of 1997 or the very beginning of 1998.

Fourteen years.

It’s probably all the better that I don’t remember the exact date that I lost Sunshine.

She was a good dog.

That dog had her name before I ever saw her.

She used to sit there and stare at chameleons on the gas meter for hours on end.

During a particularly cold winter in Houston one year, we put a Bill the Cat sweatshirt on her to keep her warm.

I loved it when she jumped on the picnic table and caught the Koosh Balls I would toss to her.  A few years later, she would take up a station on the couch and catch a stuffed cow.

My brother used to buy her Happy Meals.

She chewed up Mom’s couch when she was a puppy.  In my efforts to hide the destruction by sewing  things up, I learned that upholstery was not in my immediate future.

By the time the ravages of cancer had gotten to her mammary glands, she was living with my brother because my landlord at the time didn’t allow pets.

My brother and I were both there that night when all that medicine had to offer Sunny was a humane way to end her suffering.

That dog was with us physically just over 12 years.

Otherwise, she’s still with us now.