Adopted October 17, 1999
Died December 11, 2000

There she is with her Daddy. Precious Peanut when she was feeling good. That is how we all want to remember her.

It has taken me nearly one year to write Peanut's memorial. She was very special to me, to all of us who knew her -- from her foster mother to her incredible adopters. 

I keep seeing that little puss running up the hallway to greet me the last time I saw her the week before she died. Her back end was going as best she could manage, feeling as sick as she did. I can still feel her soft kisses.  

I love to think of her when I saw her at the dog walkathon at Oregon Ridge, shortly after her adoption, when she was healthy and happier than possibly she'd ever been. She was wagging that back end furiously, telling me without a doubt that she was okay. More than okay. She had a real "This is ITNESS!" about her. I was so pleased for Peanut and her family. 

I know Peanut's parents came to show her off that day, but in truth -- and I told people this at the time (after I commented on her as "Little Miss This is ITNESS") -- that she was in fact showing them off. "Here's my family," she seemed to say.  "Aren't they great?  I'm so lucky!"  Indeed, she was. I really felt that from her that day. She left us far too soon.
 
I'll never forget her -- from the moment she lifted her eyes to me once liberated from that filthy hole of a shelter -- to the first immersion in the cleansing water after being freed of the disgusting and debilitating mats -- to the many treats she stole at dog show after dog show, always with her tail-less back end going side to side. Good thing she didn't have a tail. She would have taken off into space, I think, if she had.
 
What a precious , pure little soul she was.  If only there were more like her. And her adopters. I am now going to share her mother's thoughts on Peanut. There they are below, in happier times. I so wish they'd had more time to feel the joy of happily ever after.

 
On October 17, 1999, we were given a treasure -- a little girl affectionately called "Peanut." She was blonde with light brown freckles on her nose, and she was a bit shy. It was estimated that she was about five or six years old because of the gleam in her eye and the bounce in her step. In reality, we were later told she was at least seven or eight. 

We met Peanut at a dog adoption show in suburban Maryland where she sat politely, her head held high, with a huge smile on her face, sitting between two other Cocker Spaniels. She looked stately, even majestic. No matter who approached her with outstretched hands -- older adults, small children -- she appeared inviting, relishing the free massages she was getting on her head, back and chin. I was sold. The problem was, we were a newly engaged couple who had recently moved into an apartment that allowed only very small pets.

After frolicking with the other dogs there, we returned to Peanut to say goodbye. A few weeks later, she was still available on the Cocker Adoption website. I immediately printed the application and filled it out in my office. I called my then-fiancé several times that afternoon, begging him to let me apply for Peanut. Of course he remembered her sweet, confident disposition. 

One week later, after reviewing a couple of other applications and visiting our home, Valerie Macys and the Cocker Adoption Center staff chose us to be her parents. We were so proud. The next week, she arrived.

At first, Peanut seemed confused about why she had been brought to our house. Were we her new foster parents with whom she would live for a few months and be wrenched away? This time, though, it was for keeps -- a permanent family for her to love and trust. But she didn't know that yet. So the instant she walked into our apartment, she endeavored to sniff every inch of the place to make sure all was well. We watched adoringly -- for we'd only met her once, and she was showing us a different side. 

Eventually she came around, taking the same care to evaluate us as she had the apartment before being left with us for good. As her rescuer (Valerie) and foster mother (Barbara) left, she went to the door awaiting their return. We sat her on the couch between us, stroking her shaved head and back, which we were told would grow back to be gorgeous curly locks. By Christmas it had, and she was beautiful! We no longer wondered why some of her medicine bottles read "Patient: Marilyn," as in Marilyn Monroe. 

It didn't take us long to give her nicknames of our own like Nutty Buddy, Waggle Butt (her Dad's favorite . . . she had no tail so she wagged her bottom when she was excited), Peany, Peany Weeny, Pee-Pee, Girlfriend (her Mom's favorite, in a high-pitched voice), Mama, Freckles, Stinka Blinka, Nutsky (her paternal grandfather's favorite) and SweetaLeetum.

Peanut loved the Christmas holiday. We got her her favorite: a new BBQ-flavored bone -- medium size -- and two squeaky stuffed animal toys from the Pet Barn. She quickly tore into the wrapping of the bone, holding it between both paws as she bit through the paper. Needless to say, it didn't last long. . .

We have some of the best pictures of her by the tree, intent on getting the most out of Christmas. Later that day, she visited her grandparents on both sides, all of whom adored her to bits and would sneak her food without our permission. 

Peanut turned out to be a good influence on her new cousin, "Gustafson" or "Gus," as he's called. Gus is a finicky eater, notorious for holding out until he gets his favorite rotisserie chicken. When Peanut was around, she would finish her food, then devour his, which unleashed Gus' competitive edge, forcing him to start and finish his own dog food.

For one year and one month, our home was happy, and everyone was healthy. We couldn't ask for more. Then we went to Nashville for the weekend and left Peanut with her maternal grandparents in mid-November. When we returned, my Mom told us she felt a lump in Peanut's throat which had gotten progressively worse, prompting a visit to the vet. A battery of tests were run, and our worst fears were realized: our baby had Lymphoma.

On December 11, 2000 at 8:10 p.m., Peanut Stewart passed away in her Daddy's arms at the Metropolitan Emergency Animal Clinic. Her body, so strong and flexible for nine years, went limp, and she conceded her life on earth to Rainbow Bridge. Lymphoma reduced her last year, one month and three weeks of constant affection and attention to three weeks of struggling to lift her head, eat, drink or even rest comfortably on her favorite place in the apartment: the '4 x 1.5' marble space in front of the faux fireplace where a makeshift memorial now resides.

We loved her more than anything and take solace in knowing she felt that love -- constantly and unconditionally. Peanut will always be regarded as our first child.