She's quiet, but she is merciless with her kisses and clamoring. She loves, loves, loves to be held. Whitey.
It's just Whitey now. So I let her sleep with me at night. Every time she saw her reflection in the mirror, she thought there was another dog (or me, if she saw me in the mirror) behind the glass.
Whitey had never been alone until very recently. Her brother Blackie died very suddenly.
If I could put her in my bag and take her with me, I would. My sweet, sweet Whitey girl.
