On January 25, 1996, I made a trip up to upstate South Carolina to visit a toy poodle breeder that had been recommended to me. Little did I know how that drive was to change my life.

When I arrived, the breeder had 2 puppies there for me to see, a little chocolate brown one and a little black one. I noticed right away that the little brown one, although cute, was huddling at the very back of the cage. The black one, however, was literally throwing herself at the bars of the cage and barking excitedly, trying to get to me. I always said she took one look at me and said, "Sucker!" My decision was made right away. I didn't choose her -- she chose me.

After inspecting the grounds and the breeder's home and the parents, satisfied that it wasn't a puppy mill, I finally set out towards home with little Kika in a crate. I had already picked out her name -- the first two letters of the first and last name of my favorite opera singer, Kiri te Kanawa. See? KI-KA. I was so excited because this was to be the first dog I would ever have from a puppy and raise on my own.

I settled in for the drive, expecting a quiet, peaceful trip home, but within five minutes Kika was howling inside the crate. Nothing would comfort her except if I put my right hand in there. She turned around three times and curled up on my hand and went right to sleep, and I drove all the way back to Atlanta with my right hand in the crate and my left hand on the wheel.

When I finally got her home, I had done all the right things. I had cordoned off a safe corner of the kitchen and put her crate in there with a ticking clock, a radio on soft music in the corner, and a T-shirt with my scent on it in the crate for her. All to no avail -- she screamed at the top of her lungs. After two hours of this, I said to myself, "I did not drive all the way up there to have this puppy die from loneliness this very first night." Not to mention I was SO tired. So I went in and got her out of the kitchen and brought her to my bed. She turned around three times and curled up against my heart, and that was settled. She slept with me from that point on.

When she was a puppy I was surprised at how active and hyper she was. She would zoom around the house and the yard at 90 miles an hour. And talk about being destructive -- purses, shoes, pantyhose -- she destroyed anything she could get her sharp little white teeth on. I lived in a house at the time that had one of those burglar alarm systems with exposed wires, and she got up on the windowsill and chewed the wires apart 16 -- count 'em -- 16 times. Every time my father had to come fix it he would get so mad!

I took her to obedience school and she learned very quickly. Poodles are very smart, after all -- she was so smart that she learned right away whether or not I had a treat in my pocket, and that would determine whether or not she would do her perfect little "sit", "down", "stay", etc. She had me very well trained by the end of the first session.

Eventually, Kika and I adjusted to each other and got down to the business of living. And it seemed that she arrived just in time. 10 ½ months after I got Kika, I lost my best friend because of an argument over a guy. It's just so stupid, the things we argue about. Well, to make a very long story short, I not only lost my best friend, I lost just about all my friends except for 1 or 2 very loyal ones who refused to take sides. This very rapidly became the worst period of my life to that point. But it was OK because even though I was very lonely and unhappy, I had Kika. Often I would cry and she would lick the tears off my face. It was as if she was saying, "Mama, I don't want you to be sad."

Kika and I moved into a new house (with unexposed burglar alarm wires) when she was a year old. We lived happily through the ups and downs of life until July, 2000, when she got hold of my Rockport sandal. She chewed it up and swallowed the buckle AND the leather strap all in one piece. For what it cost for that surgery, I could have bought 3 new Kikas, but I would never have forgiven myself. That was a crazy summer -- in May I had had major surgery and was recovering at the same time Kika was, and all this time my house was being remodeled.

Around 2005, Kika began to slow down and limp a little, but she was still very active. The vet advised a ½ of a baby aspirin twice a day with each meal. This worked very well and we continued on with the business of living. Around that time, first my father, then my mother went to be with the Lord. I was terribly grieved because I had been their sole caretaker and I was bereft, but it was OK, because I still had Kika. We lived companionably until the most dark and horrible day of my life, September 5, 2007.

I had gone out in the evening as usual and left Kika in the sun porch in her little bed with the doggie door open. I returned home two hours later, around 9:00 p.m., and she was dead. Without going into the horrid details, a wild animal, most likely a coon, had gotten in through the doggie door and killed her on the sun porch. I walked in and found her and immediately went into hysterics. I screamed and screamed -- my neighbors thought I was being murdered. Somebody called the police and my neighbors came running. I still shudder to think of that horrible first night without her.

And that was what brought me to Rainbow Bridge. I am so lucky that I found this site. I am learning to take all of the love that Kika gave me and share it with the other good friends I have found here. It helps me to be here. By telling Kika's story I hope to help others to know that once you have found a forever love, it never goes away. Even though you may be separated, it is only for a short while.

Kika, my darling, Mama loves you. I know you are safe and well and happy at the Bridge. Don't worry that I still cry for you -- it's only natural, after all -- I miss you something awful. But it's OK. We will be together again someday, I promise. Take care of Mama and Daddy and run around with Tina and Bee-Bo and all our other family fur babies until I come for you. Kisses from my heart, always.