We re-named the female dog "Her Highness, Queen Pixel," fully expecting to call her QP for short, since she was such a little Kewpie doll of a dog.  The male dog had been dubbed "Baron" by the folks at Casa de Critters, so we re-named him "Baron Zippy von Pop."  In the first days after we brought them both home, we got in the habit of referring to Pixel as "The Little Girl" since gender was an easy way to distinguish between the two new dogs.  That's the name that stuck.  It actually turned out to be a perfect fit for her, as she seemed to be a true "girly girl," down to her hip-swaying gait.

In the beginning, The Little Girl spent a lot of time hiding under our bed, or in the corner behind Tim's recliner.  She must have been abused before being rescued, as she was extremely timid and would cower when we extended our hands to pet her.  Over time, she learned that Tim and I could be trusted, and she decided that she really preferred sleeping on the sofa, or on a pillow on the hearth in front of the fireplace.  She even learned that sleeping in Tim's or my lap was not only safe but even a pleasurable experience.  And eventually, The Little Girl found the courage to assert herself, albeit in small ways.  If she was in one of our laps and we stopped petting her, she would use her paw to gently remind us that she was still there and hadn't yet gotten her fill of affection.  If we put her outside to answer nature's call, she would come to the door and bark to let us know she was ready to come back inside.  And if there was the possibility of getting food from one of our dinner plates, she was always quick to come and sit by the table, quietly wagging her tail.  She never begged or cried for food (unlike Zippy) but always made sure she was positioned as close as possible to make it easy for us to give her some tasty tidbits.

Then in mid-2005, she started coughing - not a lot at first, but enough to catch our attention.  We took her to the vet, who said that the cough was a sign that her heart problem was advancing.  He prescribed medication, but it didn't seem to reduce her cough.  Meanwhile, Pixel continued to act as though she was completely unaware of her heart problem, running and jumping and generally enjoying life.  Over time, her cough increased in frequency and severity, but still, her energy and activity level remained on a par with Zippy's, which gave us what turned out to be a false sense of security.

On Friday afternoon, October 27, Pixel was outside enjoying the mild weather while Tim and I went about our work inside the house.  But then we heard her make a little cry of distress, and we went outside to check on her.  She was lying in one of her favorite spots, and seemed to be in respiratory distress.  We picked her up and took her straight to the vet, who told us that her heart was in arrhythmia and appeared to be giving out.  Our options were limited.  We could try an aggressive treatment plan that at best might extend her life a few months, and at worst would do little more than make her uncomfortable because of all the shots, medications, and time in the hospital away from us.  At the other end of the spectrum, we had the option to put her down.  Or we could simply take her home and see what happened.  The vet said that without treatment, The Little Girl probably wouldn't survive the night, or at best would live 48 hours.  We were stunned.  We had thought that when her heart problem got to be truly severe, she would sleep all day and move slowly - in short, we had thought heart failure would show itself in something other than her cough.

We brought her home and did everything we could to make her comfortable.  I stayed up with her most of the night, and there were times when her breathing was so slow that I thought each breath was going to be her last.  But in the morning, she rallied.  The weather was beautiful on Saturday, so we took her outside and took turns holding her in our laps.  After a while, she wanted down, and we were pleased to see her walk toward her favorite spot in the yard.  At various points in the day, Pixel ate, drank, and answered nature's call, all in a fashion that seemed almost normal.  But then Saturday night, her breathing became labored again, and for a few hours she alternated between resting on her side and standing.  She seemed determined to live, never wanting to go to sleep lest she should fail to wake.  Early Sunday morning as she rested on her side, with her upper body elevated on a pillow and her head in my hand, The Little Girl breathed her last breath.

We loved this little dog, and will miss her.  We were caught off guard by the suddenness of her passing, but of course we're glad that she didn't suffer a long and painful death.  After her heart finally gave out and death claimed her body, we wrapped Pixel in the peach-colored sham that had enveloped her favorite pillow, and buried her in our little pet cemetery.  She rests between a rose bush and some irises, where the absence of blooms mirrors the empty place she has left in our hearts .  But in the spring, fragrant flowers will mark her grave and help to lighten our hearts as we remember how much Pixel loved to make a little space for herself in each of our flower beds, just as she made a space for herself in each of our hearts..