I had 4 dogs growing up. One was named Baby and she was special. She was the absolute cutest puppy I’ve ever known (don’t tell Barkley). She was a Pomeranian and was so tiny. She was a little ball of fluff that could fit in the palm of your hand.

She loved attention. Princess was even her middle name. Everyone wanted to hold her. Even my Mimi who didn’t like a lot of dogs but loved this little Baby. But Baby was also a puppy and she liked to play. One day Mimi was holding her and Baby wiggled her way out of Mimi’s hands and fell to the ground.

There was a little yelp, and we knew something was wrong. Little Baby had broken her little leg. She had to wear a little cast. I can’t remember for how long, but I do know it felt like forever.

Finally, she got her cast off and enjoyed an entire day of freedom. Then it happened again. Thank goodness Mimi wasn’t the one holding her this time because I’m pretty sure that my sweet grandmother would have been guilt-ridden (well, she already was after the first time).

Baby fell out of my lap. She broke her leg. The same leg, The same bone. She was back in the cast. Still cute. Still sweet but broken.

After forever and a day the cast came off. And Baby was her happy, beautiful self.

Some time passed before we realized that there was a problem. She was limping. Not all the time. But more than she should. So back to the vet she went. More x-rays of her tiny little leg.

The news wasn’t good. The radius in the tiny pup’s right leg wasn’t growing. The ulna was growing at a normal rate but the other bone was still the size it was when it was broken during her puppyhood.

Apparently, the floof had broken the growth plates off both ends of her radial bone when she fell as a puppy. She would always have a little limp and likely pain.

Most people couldn’t tell she had a problem at all. She was the happiest fluffing dog in the world. You couldn’t be near her without absorbing some of her energy. She was extraordinary.

Now, she did have some hard times. Like she was a young mom. Her tiny little body managed to bear 4 giant puppies (they were Pomeranian and Yorkie mixes so naturally I called them Porkies) and admittedly wasn’t a great mom at first.

She left the puppies where they came out (under the blue chair, under the console television, in the main bathroom, and in the foyer) and then she hid under the bed. Luckily when I got home from band practice I noticed a whimpering coming from the foyer, and we found #1 and began the search for momma and sibs.

Once we found all four and Momma Baby, we put them in a box in the bathroom and her momma instincts kicked in. She cleaned those Porkies from head to toe, she fed them non-stop and she guarded them. Daddy Scruffy wasn’t even allowed to look at them without a few angry growls from Momma. She was an amazing mom.

Pregnancy and motherhood took a lot out of her. After the puppies, she was skinny and tired and her fur had no volume (and for a Pom, that’s unusual). And we knew she still had pain in her leg. Occasionally, she did limp when it got really bad and my mom and I would massage her leg which soothed my little girl.

But she never complained. We knew it took a toll on her though. After the pups were long gone and the pain was lingering, she did develop a nasty habit that she had up until her final days.

She had a nicotine addiction. No, I’m not kidding. My little Baby was dependent on cigarettes. My other dog Rowdy got her hooked on taking mom’s extinguished cigarettes out of the ashtray and chewing on the filters until she could get the nicotine high. And she needed Rowdy to get the butts for her since she was too small to get them on her own, especially with her disability. Rowdy didn’t mind at all, though. He had been in love with her since the day we brought her home. But that’s a story for another time. They both had stashes of cigarette butts hidden around the house and when Baby was jonesing, she would hit his supply.

Regardless of this, she led a wonderfully long life and was always the center of such amazing energy. It could never be replaced. She could never be replaced. I’m positive that a big part of my mom died the day she held Baby in her arms as Baby took her last breath.

This dog struggled with pain from her first days until the end. I don’t know how she did it. Is it weird to say that I wish I could be more like that dog? I mean, my resiliency is remarkable, sure. But not only did she adjust to her pain, she still managed to bring light into so many lives. I feel like I did that at one time but not anymore. I feel like my light is gone and I have nothing left to give. But it’s my goal to get back there. I aspire to be my Baby.