Dear Dixie,

I'm sorry you've been so sick, and we didn't know.

I'm sorry we called you old and contrary when you stopped eating and got picky about your food. I'm sorry that tumor was stuck to all you're organs. I promise to do my best to never call you old and contrary again, although I don't feel too guilty because in your younger years we all spent a great deal of time cleaning up your messes, searching the neighborhood during your near daily getaways, and picking up trash you ripped from other peoples already-put-out trash bags. So, since you were young and contrary, it was pretty natural for us to assume you'd be old and contrary, too.

Thanks for being such a good dog.

Even in the midst of all your greatly adventurous getaways and your typical Dixie trash hunting, you're a pretty great pal. You never minded all those times I kicked you in the night when your snoring finally got loud enough to shake the bed, although I will say it was pretty nice of me to let you sleep in my bed for so long with all of that noise you make in the night. You're welcome, pal; but, if you do live a little longer, you might want to work on that snoring of yours. It's really not ladylike, and, yes, I know you can't control snoring in your sleep; I'm referring to when you snore while awake (everyone knows you do that).

There are things about you I won't forget.

Like the day we met. Two days before Christmas. You arrived in a stocking and you were the tiniest little puppy I'd ever seen. I'll always be a sucker for a runt. You're just as cute now as you were then. Gray hair and whiskers look good on you, girl. (be glad because not everyone looks good with gray whiskers) You know, at first your name wasn't Dixie. It was Chrissy, get it? I got you for Christmas. I know; I know; it's corny. Some super cool friends of mine convinced me to change it, and we decided on Dixie. I think it fit.

Or like the time at Christmas when we were all in the living room and heard a light 'tinking' noise that kept getting louder and more intense, which is when we noticed the Christmas tree shaking furiously. Then we discovered you, precious dog, stuck underneath the beautifully decorated tree frantically trying to paw your way out from your newest not-so-favorite food storage area. And, oh by the way, I hope that if you live a little longer you'll quit hiding food. I mean, seriously? Mom and Dad will feed you. Duh.

Oh, Oh, and that time I got my bridal portraits done and you made the journey to Florida with us. And except for being a little nervous, you loved it. Remember how you loved the beach? Fun times. Anyway, so when I was getting my bridals done, you were such a sweet girl, and you posed for so many pictures and even wore Mama's pearls. Thanks for that. Thanks for only rolling around on and pawing at my train with your scruffy little nails once. It wasn't a blanket, you know? Then again, I guess you don't know because you really don't know about clothes because you don't like them much. Oh, well. If you live a little longer, you should really learn to distinguish the difference between blankets and clothing. Not only did you mistake my wedding dress for a blanket, but I've also seen you napping on top of a pile of clothes many times, so you should work on that.

Some people probably think it's foolish for a dog to undergo surgery. That's just because they don't know you. I'm glad you're making it so far. Try not to develop a blood clot and die on me, okay? We all still need you around a little longer. Some people probably think it's foolish to love a dog so deeply. That's just because they don't know you. You're a tough old girl, so I know you're doing your best to hang in there. Thanks for that.

You're really great pal, Dixie.

I love you,

Jessica.

P.S. If you live a little longer, I don't care if you can't tell the difference between blankets and clothes or if you want to hide your food for later in the strangest of places or if you snore all day long every day. I don't care if you develop a million-trillion new bad habits. (and it's not because I don't live with you anymore) It's because you're a part of my home and a part of my family and a part of my heart, so you'd be doing me a real big favor if you'd stay for a while.

My name is Jessica, and I have a sick dog named Dixie, not to be confused with the name Gracie. And, yes, that nasty thing in the top right corner of the collage is Dixie's removed tumor. Does it look about the size of a grapefruit to you?

It should. I said she was tough, remember?