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My dad had never been one for "fancy" dogs. I had been raised with "mutts", as we called them. But there we were, at an adopt-a-pet, that sunny fall Saturday afternoon, watching a beautiful white lhasa apso named Brandi settle into Dad's lap. This was a dog far removed from any dog my dad had ever owned. She was refined and polished, and was going to need lots of grooming, and, more than likely, lots of attention. Yet, it was love at first sight.

This proud, strong man who was my father was finally in a wheelchair after struggling for years with back injuries, surgeries, and the pain of scar tissue. He could no longer make his legs work by sheer force of will. He was alone most of day and as hard as we tried, none of us could be there for him to provide the companionship he needed. He had been rather opposed to the idea of getting a dog at first, but there we were that Saturday, and after meeting Brandi, there was no going home without her.

From the first day, Dad and Brandi just understood each other. He delighted in showing us how smart she was. Her vocabulary was huge, he insisted, and proceeded to show us by telling her not only to get her toy, but also what particular toy, and often what color, he wanted her to get. Brandi knew that Dad couldn't bend down from his wheelchair to get her toys, so when she wanted to play ball, she would go and get it, raise up onto the wheelchair, and drop it gently into his lap. If Dad didn't feel well enough to play, she understood. If he was just too busy, that was another matter entirely.

We watched amazed at how gingerly Brandi jumped onto the bed so as not to hurt Dad. And she patiently sat in his lap while he brushed her daily. I am not sure who got more out of these brushing sessions, but it was a pretty close race. She even allowed her teeth to be brushed every week. Never had a bond been as close as that of Dad and Brandi.

Then, the call came one Saturday night. My mother was not able to wake my father. His struggle was finally over. Brandi had been at the foot of the bed, of course, in her proper place. While we were all able to express our grief and were busy making arrangements and discussing changes to be made, Brandi could not. Her reason for living was gone, and there was no way any of us could make it any better for her. We tried playing ball, and giving her attention and love, but we weren't Dad. We struggled with dealing with her loneliness when we all got back into a "normal" routine. My mother was at work

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