The day after Dante died, I was struggling hard to find the words about where I believe he is now. I was able to go home and write down what I was unable to speak. I sent this to the Hartford CT Observer and Newton Bee. I hope it brings some solace to the Sandy Hook families. I know it comforts me to know that Dante had a special purpose. Those who believe in the afterlife say if you have a strong, compelling voice in your head telling you something about a departed loved one, that is the spirit world connecting with you. I had this message of Dante's fate given to me within minutes of his passing.

I remember like yesterday the day we brought you home. I'm not going to retell the story of "Marley and Me;" John Grogan is a far better wordsmith than I will ever be, but it goes without saying that we had our challenging moments raising a willful Australian Shepherd puppy. Sometimes it felt like we were living out scenes from the movie: the torn leather sofa, shreds of you name it in every corner of the house, a terrorized kitty or two.

No stranger to the breed, we knew that we had to keep you occupied and give you jobs to do. We started with puppy socialization. At first you were intimidated by the bigger boys, but you quickly learned to hold your own and ultimately stood up to the boldest of them with confidence and composure. Agility class was where we caught our first glimpse of your grace and blinding speed. You were a whiz kid at obedience, but we kept you behind for another round because you just wouldn't master an all-important command: "Come!" Your speed and willfulness contributed to your demise; that, and your insatiable desire to herd that which dogs should never chase: cars.

God was kind enough to give us Christmas to spend together. It was pure joy watching you frolic in your first snowfall. You didn't run. You didn't jump. You leapt through the drifts like a gazelle. Your speed and exuberant lust for life were the essence of poetry in motion. You painted a comical picture burrowing your face in the snow, chasing the ball around with your nose and coming up for air with a frosty white beard.

I will always remember the feel of your soft, silky coat beneath my hands and gazing into your soulful hazel eyes. I would look into them and forget all sense of time, lost in their depth. In your calm moments you were always so giving of love and affection, and such a willing recipient. I envisioned you as a perfect therapy dog. That was going to be one of your next training assignments and I think you would have excelled at that most of all. Aussies aren't known for a quiet disposition, but this was the side of your personality that exemplified most of all the exceptional dog you would become.

Looking at the photo collage of you and your master, a special gift for him that still sits beneath the tree, I can't help but think of others who were robbed this Christmas of the joy that family brings.

You were only ours for a few short months, Dante, and we spent untold hours training you in obedience and agility. We played and socialized. We taught you manners around the elderly and strangers. You taught yourself to be a guard dog to be reckoned with. You camped with us; you swam with us; you accompanied us on countless roadtrips and made friends everywhere you went.

God was kind and gave us Christmas to spend together but I believe God had a greater purpose in mind. He only gave you to us for a short time to get you trained for the job you were born to have, Dante. Beautiful, soulful, joyful Dante, there are 20 new angels in heaven who would adore a puppy just like you for Christmas. You were delivered a little late, but Christmas is every day in heaven. You have enough love, energy and enthusiasm to fill the hearts of every one of them to overflowing. I can almost hear them squealing with glee over your arrival. Be their guardian angel dog and they will be your constant companions until we see you again.