Oliver never met a stranger, and the only time he barked at someone is when he wanted them to come play with him. He would do stupid things--like bark at a cooler when you extended the handle up and down, or go sit in the window sill and bark at the air. He would get into mischief, like knocking over the bathroom trash and playing in it, or getting his front paws stuck in a glue trap meant for a mouse (still not sure how he was able to access it from behind the bookcase,) and would sit by the table during dinner and beg for scraps. He enjoyed his family--his "aunt" Sarah, and his grandma and grandpa, who always spoiled him. They would go on trips and bring back a souvenir for Oliver--and nothing for my sister and I! They had a special blanket for him when he came to visit, and would set the ottoman by the window at their house so that Oliver could see outside.

It was always a joke that Oliver never knew he was a dog, since everyone just treated him like a person. Oliver was the king of the house, and he knew it. He always had the best toys, tastiest treats, and got more love and affection than probably 10 dogs. Oliver was notorious for jumping onto the bed in the middle of the night, walking up your body to get to your face, and stick his face right in yours--for no reason, other than him wanting attention. He was nose back the covers so that he could burrow into them. He would try to "dig a hole" in a pillow or the couch in order to bury a treat. Oliver was the master of what I call "sad eyes," where he would essentially lay his head down on his front paws and give you this look--he knew that this special look would always get him his way. Oliver was like my furry, four legged son--the best cuddler I knew, always a lover, a dog who would probably lick you for hours if you'd let him. He liked to wait outside the shower, and when you stepped out, he couldn't wait to lick the water off your legs. His favorite place to be was anywhere you were, preferably in your lap. If you were on the phone, not paying attention to him, he would go get a squeaky toy, and play with it right by you--JUST so you knew he was there.

Now my little buddy is gone--taken too soon, at 4 years old. If only he hadn't been quite so curious, hadn't eaten things he shouldn't, then he would probably still be sitting here, right beside me, and I wouldn't be here on this website right now. But he is gone, and isn't coming back. I keep waiting for him to run in from the other room and jump up beside me, wait to hear him drinking his water, or "snarfing" his food as he often did. I'm waiting for him to come sit at my feet and look at me, to tell me he needs to go outside. I'm waiting for him to start squeaking his football toy, or one of his other toys from his box. I look at the window still, expecting him to be there looking outside--but he's not there. He lives on now only in my memories, and I know that now nothing can hurt him, and he won't experience anything negative, and won't have any pain. I have always said that dogs don't choose their own life, so its up to us to make sure they have a good one. I think that Oliver had the best, happiest life that a dog could ever have, and I tried to make sure every day that he wanted for nothing. He has only been gone one day, and all I can do is focus on one day at a time, and know that Oliver is playing with other people's furbabies who have passed on, and is in a happy, better place.