She was Grandma’s twelve-year-old terrier mix, small, scruffy, and half-blind, with a gentle nature that made her impossible not to love. Daisy had been my grandmother’s shadow for years, following her from room to room and curling up at her feet each night.

When I arrived at the house that morning, Daisy was lying by Grandma’s favorite armchair, trembling and confused.

My Aunt Lydia wrinkled her nose. “Someone needs to take that dog. I can’t have hair all over my clothes.”

“I’ll take her,” I said immediately.

“Are you sure?” my cousin Lucas asked, distracted as he sifted through a drawer of silverware. “She’s old. Probably won’t live much longer.”

“I’m sure,” I said.