ALIE TREJO TRE October, 1994 - July, 2002 Into our life you came All feet, and ears, and gangly legs. You slept, you ate, and learned your new name. Right off, we saw something different in you, A monster dog with an attitude. We watched, we learned, but you, seemed to know just what to do. You slept between us and snored and chewed. You ate, you played, especially your pranks to amuse. You learned to open the door, just to race inside, pocketing an item in those walrus lips and slip outside. The chase was on, a game you chose to capture our attention and win our delighted souls. You coveted your couch and liked it just so. When Dad would go to fix the blanket youd warn him with a fabricated growl, just another game we watched unfold. As long as we both shall live we will never find such a warmhearted friend. One who reached so deep and caused our hearts and heads to spin. A gentle giant, so good and kind. But you left too soon with no glance behind. You left us staggering, suffering, and blind.