I picked up Hector when he was eight weeks old.  He was a big, beautiful black pug, full of energy and mischief.  He got into a lot of trouble, but he was so sweet and loving it was hard to stay mad at him.  He grew into a tall, lithe pug, totally unlike his older sister, the usual fat, wrinkly pug.  His coat was beautiful and glossy, his eyes sparkled with fun and the thought of getting into trouble.  And he was a great snuggler. He followed me everywhere and was constantly underfoot; when I went to the bathroom or took a shower or went to the kitchen to get a drink.



On Wednesday evening, April 1, I let him out to go to the bathroom.  I live off a little-used country road, so I didn't think much of letting him and his older sister, Sylvia, out alone.  I ducked in to quickly use the bathroom, and when I came back out, he was dead in the road, hit by a car that didn't stop. 



I picked him up and took him home.  He was pretty unmarked, just a little bloody nose, but he was dead.  I sat on the stairs and held my baby for a long, long time, crying my fool eyes out.



It's been a few days, and I can't express in words how much I miss Hector.  His energy and presence filled the house.  he was always near me, slept with me, stayed with me.  I loved him dearly, still love him dearly, and miss him terribly.



I will remember him forever, and look forward to seeing him again ultimately.  Good boy, Hector.  Good boy!