Our Christmas Holly

It was a cold and snowy December 2, 2017, when Cookie crossed the Rainbow Bridge. She was our sweet Bichon Frisé, our best friend for thirteen-and-a-half years. Our hearts were broken; the house felt so empty without her. For nine days, we struggled with the silence that filled our home.

As the saying goes, “When a door shuts, a window opens.” Peter was scanning the puppies for sale ads and came across one for Maltese puppies. Although we had planned to rescue a dog from the Humane Society, we thought we would “just go look at the puppies.”

We headed out on a one-hour drive that took us to Quebec, which is over the bridge from Ontario. When we finally arrived, we were greeted by three teeny-tiny, beautiful little puppies.

We immediately fell in love with the “runt of the litter,” a tiny bundle of love. We wrapped her in a warm blanket and headed home.

As it was just two weeks before Christmas, I decided that her name should be Holly, our Christmas puppy.

Holly, fresh from the spa and her first grooming.

Today, Holly is six-and-a-half years old, and she has Peter and me wrapped around her little paw. During the day, she can either be found curled up beside Peter in his office, cuddled up in his arms, or curled up on the sofa beside me on her special pillow. She is happiest when she is near us.