Fuzzy died on December 28th, 1961. My Daddy started his coffee and put a can of dog food in Fuzzy's bowl. After she had finished eating, Daddy let her out in the back yard. His coffee would normally be ready after he let Fuzzy out so he enjoyed a cup of coffee and some toast before he went to work.

When he opened the front door to leave for work Fuzzy wasn't there. That wasn't unusual because she sometimes was a little late. He expected her to come running up before he got to his car.

When she didn't appear, he knew something was wrong. He walked around to the front of the car. Still no Fuzzy. He walked round to the back gate.

He found Fuzzy on the ground in front of the gate. Although she was still warm, Daddy knew she was dead. Daddy figured Fuzzy's great big, wonderful, loving, heart gave out during the jump. He said she was most likely dead by the time she landed on the ground.

He went back in and woke Mommy. They discussed what to do about her. Mommy wanted to let me sleep a little while longer. She said she didn't want to ruin my day.

Daddy felt I should be told immediately. After all, he said, she was my dog. He said I should face my responsibility.

My Daddy woke me. He told me to get dressed: there was a problem and he needed my help. He told me there was something wrong with Fuzzy. I asked what. He said he was dead. He had tears in his eyes.

Daddy and Mommy went with me to see her. Fuzzy was on her right side. She looked like she was ready to get up at any minute. Her tail was up, and I expected it to wag, and her ears were up and alert. All in all she looked happy. I wanted tell her to get up and come to me.

But I knew she was beyond obedience now.

Daddy helped me pick her up and I carried her into the backyard. It didn't seem like she was dead. She couldn't be dead. She'd been sleeping next to me earlier this morning.

We placed her under her favorite tree. Daddy asked if I wanted her collar to remember her by. I couldn't bear the thought of Fuzzy without her collar. It was so much a part of her.

Later that morning Daddy and I wrapped her in her favorite blanket: it had been the one she'd slept on ever since it was mine. I didn't want her to get cold. Daddy and I took turns digging the grave she was to be buried in. We made it nice and round and deep.

Surrounded by a family that loved her Daddy and I placed her in the ground. We all cried. I told Daddy I wanted to cover her and I didn't stop crying the whole time I filled in the dirt over her.

There is a verse in a song that says "if dogs have a heaven then my dog has a good home.

I know Fuzzy sure does.