From the first day you came home, you performed so many continuous backflips that your acrobatic feats flew you right off my bed. Your presence in the office instantly brought a smile to weary patients. While your brother offered patients a paw to shake “hello”, you nonchalantly peed on a patient’s wheelchair. But with the ladies, your greeting was a double bark and then pawing them for attention. When you decided to “wrestle and kill” my ten thousand dollar rhinoscope, I couldn’t get mad at you. Your determination was irresistible. When a massive rain and thunder storm interrupted a Cavalier fun day, you had a grand time running and sliding through the mud while your canine companions watched in amazement. After your jaunt, the only recognizable feature was your big brown laughing eyes. The rest of you was covered in thick, gooey pluff mud characteristic of Charleston marshes. During a three hour bath, you squealed with glee while I tried my best to get you marginally clean. Although long gone, we and our patients remember you as the happy little Cavalier who loved making people laugh with your humorous antics.