Fourteen years ago today we picked up a scared little terrier from the Sacramento SPCA. She was about seven months old. I remember suffering the horrified glares of a little girl and her family as I stole Phoebe out of the cage, while they debated getting her themselves. Another 5 minutes and we would have never seen her.
Fourteen years later, Phoebe is still going strong. She's not the little tough she used to be. The legs are getting shaky and the hearing is shot, but she's still getting around fine, going for short walks, avoiding Fianna expertly, and tussling with Dutch in the backyard.
Back in the day, she used to purr when pet, smile and squint when pleased, and, for the first year or so, get so happy when the people came home that she tinkled. She's always been a charmer, winning over every household visitor with her good nature, smiles and wags. She's always been our best friend.