  Cordy September 11, 2002 � January 17, 2003 She died about an hour ago. We had been training her to go outside unattended, but today Kurt had caught her on the road. Neither of us was paying attention when it happened; even after yelling at her about it today. The fucks that hit her didn�t stop. I think she was struck in the head. It�s funny, all those years of pre-hospital care, I was trained not to move a victim, but it wasn�t her spine that was the problem.
Her eyes didn�t track when we got her inside. I kept thinking that we never took a picture of her. Not one. She was a terror, Cordy was. She gave us fleas, she peed in our bed, she ate underwear, and she ate George, my bear who was dressed as an engineer, who sat with his arms in a loop around his knees. She ate his nose first, of course, and followed up with his eyes. She had a thing for chewing tacks, and if the ghost poo story is not to be believed, she had heroic sized bowels. She loved the shower; she�d try to get into it whenever some one was in there, sometimes, however, she was content to squint as the spray from the shower hit her in the face.
She was goofy looking, beautiful, and occasionally, one of her ears would make an attempt to stand up straight. This month, she finally grew into her head. There�s so much more to write about her, really, but I can�t. She tried to beat up the shop vac, cats were her best friends. Lucas even liked her, eventually. We both miss her so much already, we hardly know what to do with ourselves. 
