You were never a puppy — when we first met you, you were already 11, allegedly. Your heartless previous owner only told the shelter that you were about 11. You were 24 pounds, a chubby little thing. (According to the record you gained 2 pounds the 3 weeks you were at the shelter. Probably because you were too cute looking. No one, except for the potential adopters, could resist.) You are always a puppy to us.
Your big eye balls, pudgy feet and cute paw paws. That’s why your official name, Aiya, never really stick. (Especially when you don’t answer to ANY name.) You’re our puppy, pup pup, puppilon (like papillon), lonlon.
I love it when it’s food time and you get so excited when we walk toward your food bucket. You’d jump so high. It’s your only energetic moment and you truly act like a puppy (not that I know what a puppy should be like.) Daniel would instruct you to sit (and you follow that command so well!) but I always enjoy your energy and enthusiasm very much.
I don’t care that you don’t do tricks. What do I need a dog that does tricks for? I just wanted to spoil you and make you as happy as you can be.
You deterioration happened so fast, but it feels like a lifetime ago when you were happily sniffing stuff in the house or on the grass, with your tail alertly raised, following invisible trails that lead you to nasty ivies or under the backyard deck.
I’m sad that I don’t have a chance to make you happy anymore. I’m sad that I don’t get to see you doing the stuff you like anymore. But I’m glad you don’t have to suffer anymore. :(