"Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart." A.A. Milne

Saturday morning, I opened my mailbox to find a package - something I thought was odd since I didn't recall ordering anything. But that didn't necessarily mean anything because they say the memory is the first to go!

I opened the package to find a small box, like the kind jewelry comes in. Growing more curious and excited, I opened the small box to find another small black box. Yep, it was a jewelry container. I opened that box to find the most thoughtful, beautiful pendant.

Seeing this photo - of her from the day I bought her from Larry and Joann Fortier in 2008 - really took me off guard. Then I took it out of the box and read the engraved words on the back:

"We had a damned good run, girl. 5/4/08 - 6/15/18" from my previous blog post

Since B.B.'s passing, I've honestly tried very hard to not think about it. That first week was so difficult. Trying to explain the death of such a special and beloved dog to someone who doesn't have pets or doesn't get the bond mushers have with their dogs is impossible.

There were reminders everywhere. Alarms on my phone reminding me to administer her medication three times a day. Cans of Taste of the Wild canned food and pureed canned food left over in the refrigerator. Her spot on the sofa, her "blankey" that I used to prop her head up or cover her when she shook, the sound of her nails clicking on the laminate flooring when she would pace in circles for hours - something common with brain tumors. The days immediately following her death were the same as grieving any loss - constant reminders that scratched at the fresh wound of loss.

Her passing was very sudden and unexpected on what was otherwise a good day. She ate well that morning and I had high hopes for her to have a good day. But, about 3 p.m. she started having a grand mal seizure that just would not stop. I panicked. What if I had waited too long to put her down? Had I been selfish, keeping her alive for my benefit? I called my vet, Richardson Animal Hospital, and even though they were booked up, they worked us in. It was time.

I drove the 30 minutes to the vet's office with my mom beside me in the passenger's seat and my daughter in the backseat cradling B.B. who continued to seize relentlessly. I knew this would be her last ride. I felt so helpless watching her body convulse.

When we arrived at the vet's office, one of the techs met us outside and within minutes, administered a deep sedative to knock B.B. out. Finally, after over an hour of convulsions, she settled into a peaceful deep sleep. I said a few words to her and told her it was okay to let go. I wrapped her up in her blanket one last time and carried her into the vet's office. Dr. Stephanie Kaegi's entered and I told her about B.B.'s amazing life.

B.B. was cremated with her blankey.

About a week later, the call came that B.B.'s ashes had come back. I made another 30 minute trip I'd been dreading to pick up what remained of such an amazing athlete and my best friend.

I was pleasantly surprised to find such a beautiful cherry urn held B.B.'s remains with her name engraved in a gold plate.

Shout out to Paws Awhile Pet Memorial Park for doing such a fabulous job of preserving special furry loved ones in such classy, respectful containers.

And as I said, I tried to just ... move on. I definitely stifled expressing my feelings because this loss was so painful, so great.

And then, some anonymous beautiful person sent this necklace as a reminder. Enough time had passed. Had it come immediately after the loss, it would have been painful. But now, its arrival was a timely reminder to grieve properly, to let go but also never forget.

To whomever sent this, thank you from the bottom of my heart. No dog will ever replace B.B. and I'll never ever forget her.

Thank you, anonymous person. Your random kindness, generosity and thoughtfulness left me speechless

Until next time...