Those who knew her knew she was sassy, crabby, proud, beautiful, stubborn, silly, and sometimes sweet. We could pet her only on her terms. Her man was the only person she really loved. She guarded our house from intruders. She was to be petted little and brushed - never. She chased bubbles, balls of tin foil and ladybugs. She slept in her man's computer chair or on our feet. Running water was a must and if her fountain stopped, she lived in the sink. She terrified an Iraqi war vet, a cub scout troop and a plumber or two.
She was too stubborn to show she was sick. She never liked Victor, but she put up with him because her man wanted her to. A week before she died, they sniffed noses nicely for the first time. The day before she died, he got too close at treat time and she whapped him across the nose like never before. That was her farewell. "Kid, you're alright. But I still don't want you here."
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The night of May 21, 2008, Bonnie seemed a little off. She slept beside our bed. At 6 AM, she staggered to the computer room to wait for her man. At 6:30, she collapsed with him at her side. Bonnie died at the emergency vet about 10 AM on May 22, 2008 from hepatitis and possible lymphoma.
Bonnie, we still think of you every day, and we always will.