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Writing about our dog in the past tense seems surreal.  She’s only been gone a few weeks. Mocha, a cockapoo crossbreed, was six weeks old when she joined our family in 1996. She was a fuzzy ball of fur, who looked like a lamb and leapt across our backyard like a bunny. Chasing squirrels became her favorite pastime. 

I was Mocha’s person. She followed me around, whimpered to be petted, and snuggled up in my lap anytime she got the chance. She was a gentle soul with the patience of a saint when our grandchildren were young, licking and loving them even when they pulled her fur or tried to ride on her back.  She sat on my lap on the front porch at Halloween wearing her Dorothy (Wizard of Oz) outfit. Costumed children petted her. Their parents took pictures. She never flinched.