Eulogy for a Zoey

My Zoey came to me in a maroon van, squirming amongst a half dozen other tiny white squealy balls of fluff. She was the size of my hand and she was tough stuff from the moment she was born.
She never cried, even though her big "sister," my other white bichon who was about six months older, would roll little Zoey over and over, growl at her, snap at her, try to get the best of her. Zoey always went back for more.
Even when my older pup got tangled into a roll of double sided tape, created herself into a tripod and had attached Zoey to her underside (what I wouldn't give for pictures of it), Zoey still sat patiently while I untangled the mess and set them both free.
I once snipped Zoey's toenail too closely and the poor dog was gushing blood. She only squeaked. Literally. One squeak. Had I not noticed the copious quantities of blood soaking my shirt, my pants, two towels, and the car seat during the car ride to the vet, I would never have known she was hurt.
The vet once told me that my pup's knees were so badly arthritic that he didn't know how she could walk, yet aside from a little bit of favoring of one leg or another every now and then, the problem would never have been noticed. Sometimes I could hear those little joints popping, and at that point she would bend the leg, hop on the other three, until the knee stopped hurting, but she never wanted to stop moving, to see everything she could.
And water! That baby was born part water dog. Even in mid-January, snow on the ground, she jumped into the community pool, leash attached, and swam to the other side while I fumbled around trying to get to her and still stay dry. I had to grab the leash and drag her across the water, which I was sure wanted to freeze over, in order to get her out. She shook it off and never had a single sniffle.
Then we moved to a home with a koi pond and every single time that dog went outside I heard a splash as her butt went under -- the poor fish, they didn't last a month. Weak hearts, I guess.
Nine short short years later, she developed diabetes and I could not face the reality of it. If it hadn't been for the strength of my parents, she might have suffered needlessly because I was frozen with the fear of losing my beautiful Zoby-girl.
Thankfully, though, parents know what to do. They helped her when I could not. And I swear sometimes that little girl is still in this house. I have said her name a hundred times, calling to her when I intended to say a different name. I think I shall do that for many years.