After nine years of joy, we had to put Conan to sleep on Monday. We rescued him when he was three years old after his owner committed suicide. He was a purebred chihuahua, with papers and everything; that's how we know his full name of Conan the Barbarian XIV! He loved us and strangers well, jumping up into the lap of people he didn't even know. I would take him to the Assisted Living place in our town and he patiently let the folks there love on him and listened with me as they told their stories about their dogs they had to leave behind when they entered the home. He loved to ride in the car, sitting in my lap as I drove, hoping we'd go through a drive through. He loved his Mimi, my mom, and would perk up and jump around when I said "Wanna go see Mimi?" He was a power to be reckoned with when it came to meeting other dogs on walks, having no thought at all of being height-challenged. Conan was patient with the grandkids...almost always. He was petrified of thunderstorms, and love for my husband grew exponentially when I saw him pick up trembling Conan and walk him around the house, holding him and talking comfortingly. Thank You, Lord, for our Conan!