Darlene and Peter were divorced in 2003. Darlene got the grandson, Zachary, and Peter got Maxi. Zach is a grandson much to be envied in looks, brains and humour. Maxi, their beautiful and beloved little 11-year-old Bichon Frise, perhaps not so luckily endowed, was left over and needed a new home. Elaine and I welcomed her. She arrived at the Ottawa airport from Calgary via Air Canada in a fancy air conditioned cage, stocked with food and ice water, and we picked her up at the freight terminal. From the moment she walked into our house, it was obvious we had a new family member who would wield an influence on us unlike any we had felt since our three kids had grown up and left home. She sniffed every nook and cranny and quickly decided she liked lying at the foot of Elaine's chair in the TV room until it was bedtime. Then, into bed she had to go along with her new found parents. She also decided she liked to walk and poop on other people's lawns twice a day, and she taught her newly bossed old granddad that poop bags in his jacket pocket were essential equipment for dog-walkers. Today, she died. Her darling grandmother, who spoiled her rotten, as she had done much with our kids, had preceded Maxi in June. Neither I nor Maxi got over it and Maxi would still wander around the house seemingly looking for Elaine. Now I'm even more lonely, but, I realize how much these two gave to make my later life, especially, the happy time that it has been. What would I do tomorrow when out of habit I take the leash and plan to help Old Maxi down the garage steps and out for our morning stroll? Often, in the early morning, about six a.m., she would be feeling full of ginger and take off up the street, looking over her shoulder and wagging her beautiful tail, seemingly wondering why I couldn't catch her. She'd then stop for a poop or pee and, still wagging her tail, she'd lick my hand as I snapped on her leash. I could never get annoyed at her. She made me laugh when I needed to. During the last several months, since our darling Elaine died, Maxi slept in my bed, and I can still feel the bump she would make in her sleep as she pushed closer. She had routines which included telling me when it was time to go to bed. After cleaning my teeth, washing my face and putting on my pajamas and turning on Channel 61 at nine p.m. she'd start fussing for me to go refill my glass with water and ice cubes and place it on the floor by my feet, where she would lick the cubes and contaminate the whole thing. If I wanted a drink, which I usually did, I would have to go, rinse it out and refill it, before I had my slurp, which had been the original idea. We'd then head down the hall to our bedroom, with her in the lead, after she was satisfied I had locked the doors, set the thermostat and turned off the lights. I then lifted her onto the bed, where her nightly routine was to roll and play and have me scratch her back and tummy, before I could get her to settle down while I had my nightly sleep inducing read.<b This morning I woke up and without thinking reached over to give Maxi her morning pat, and suddenly realized she wasn't there. I cried. She was almost 17 years of age and I'm almost 86. I was with her when she died. We were more than dog and master. And, while we had loved the same adorable woman, Maxi and I were best buddies and pals. With love, Maxi's Grandpa 1 Dec. 08   Submitted By: NULL