Bloomer was a perfectly perfect Golden Retriever. Certainly not in the American Kennel Club's estimation, but she certainly was in mine.

She was born on August 24, 1992. I wasn't there for her birth but I met her only five and one-half weeks after that important date. She was a tiny little thing--tan/brown in color and weighing in at only five or six pounds.

I was supposed to get the "last girl puppy." According to the breeder, he had owners for all but one female and he hoped I would be OK with getting the last remaining one. To me, that was a blessing because I didn't want to have to choose. How do you choose between puppies?

When I got there, however, after a much anticipated and anticipatory drive one October day, there were two puppies to choose from. My worst nightmare! If I could have, I would have taken both but I couldn't and so I had to choose. The breeder brought the two puppies out and Bloomer, before she was known as Bloomer, came running to me. It was clear. I didn't have to choose because Bloomer chose me.

How do you measure the life of a dog?

Do you detract the number of times they have an "accident" or the quantity or quality of the goods they have used for a chew toy? Add in the number of times they made you smile? Do you give them demerits for the times they made you mad and do you give them credit for the times they brought you bliss?

I don't know how others measure the gifts that their pets have brought them, but the gifts that Bloomer gave to me are without measure and beyond numbers. She showed me unconditional love--even when I worked too late or didn't take her on the walks that I should have or paid the attention to her that she deserved. She was always, even on the very last day of her most giving life, happy to see me. A smile and a wag and usually a toy in her mouth was my usual homecoming reception every day of her too short existence.

They say there are no bad dogs, only bad owners. Do they say that there are good dogs despite their owners?

Bloomer was never a bad dog--I don't think she had it in her, regardless of her owner or guardian! She had her moments, for sure, but don't we all? But she was always kind, always gentle and always loving.

We went to dog school. We got a graduation certificate but I think that maybe that was a bit of a stretch. Bloomer pretty much took me where she wanted and the truth is that I didn't really mind.

Her joy was unbridled, her concern so evident, her love always present. She loved me when I was happy, and angry, and down. She loved me when we went walking and to ponds and pools and anything water-related. She loved me when we went to the vet and on long hot drives. She loved me when I left for work and still did when I came home.

How do you measure the life of a dog?

Perhaps by the people she touched and hearts she warmed. Nobody ever could resist her. She was gentle. Kids could tug on her tail, cats could sidle up beside her, vets could poke and prod without an ounce of resistance.

She was the quintessential lady--except for maybe the eating scene. She adored food of pretty much any sort. She loved radishes and cucumbers. Bell peppers were a favorite. She'd lie on the carpet at my feet as I cooked--hoping for dropped morsels and a tidbit here and there. She had a somewhat confusing disdain for carrots, but loved lettuce. Other dogs would leave crumbs of things behind and we could always count on Bloomer to do clean-up duty. The times that she was banished, though I hate to use that word---more appropriately, removed for non-dog friendly gatherings, I missed her beside me---cleaning-up my messes and just being there, making me trip but looking at me with such hopeful beautiful brown eyes.

How do you measure the life of a dog?

Maybe by the memories she left. There are so many I have of her. Like playing in the snow with her Frisbee. Like swimming so much in a pool that she finally climbed onto a lawn chair and fell fast asleep. Like taking hikes in an local open space and her running ahead so she could swim but always coming back after her first quick dip to make sure that I was behind her. Like her first time with a cat and her next time with her own personal cat, Lois. Like puppy bonding time and first baths and first swims. Her distinctive "woof" when she needed to go out or wanted a treat or just wanted to have her belly rubbed. How she always brought you a toy to greet you. When we went to the dog park and how she'd run after the Frisbee, though not just any Frisbee, the pink and greet soft bite Frisbee was the only one for her---even after her arthritis was getting so bad, she try to beat her younger sibling Leo to get to it. Her ruses to get Leo to drop a bone or a pigs ear. How easily she went from a one-dog family to a dog and cat family, to a two-dog and then three-dog and a cat family. How she accommodated any number of guest dogs and people. How sweet she was, always.

If I have to measure the life of Bloomer, I would say that she is beyond measure. She was my rock. She grounded me when things were bad; she exulted with me when things were good. She was beside and with me through a lot of life--14 years is a lot of life to share with anyone and especially with a dog as full of life as Bloomer.

How do you measure the life of a dog?

Do you count it against them as they grow older and can't do what you or they want to do? I could only watch and try to do what I could to help her be as active and as involved as possible given the state of her arthritis. Get her to a pool or pond and she'd act like a pup--wearing herself out but loving it nonetheless. She needed help with stairs. A friend who dog sat for me at one time, laughed as he told the tale of when he could her her distinct, single woof. When he finally found her, there was Bloomer--stuck on the hedge in my parent's back yard apparently still thinking she could leap tall bushes in a single bound. Rattle a lead or grab her food dish, she was there. Pack a suitcase and she'd wait, trying to determine if this was a trip with her or without.

Until the very last week of her life, Bloomer was always game to do whatever. Maybe she'd pay for it latter and be stiff and sore, but she loved to be involved.

How do you measure the life of a dog?

I don't think you can. A life measured means a life that is supposed to measure up to something. She brought me joy. She comforted me in times of sadness and distress. She was my companion and she was my first. She will always be my first. From her first moments with me, she captured my heart. She made me laugh at myself and with her. Her smile, like her heart, was pure. She gave me love when I didn't deserve it and even more when maybe I did.

I was always afraid that I would have to choose a time for her to go to the Rainbow's Bridge. Is her arthritis too bad? Is she in too much pain? Fortunately or not, I don't know, it wasn't a choice I had to make. Quite suddenly her heart sac had filled with fluid. We had drained it once hoping that it was only some odd freak, but it wasn't. Within four days of the procedure, it had refilled and was most likely some sort of cancer.

Bloomer was brought into this world on August 24, 1992. She was eased out of this world on May 4, 2006. I only hope that it was a good journey for her and that she was glad, on that day in October, that she chose me. I am grateful that she did.