Two days ago, our beloved family boxer Angel passed away. My mom called me and said that she thinks she went in her sleep, as she was laying on her bed of blankets with no visible trauma. She was happy and strong considering her age. The only issue was that she would occasionally have seizures, usually if she got too excited.

Angel was given to us by a friend of my dad. They were moving to a new home that did not allow more than 2 dogs, and they had 3. So Angel came to live with us. She had some trouble settling in, or should I say, we had some trouble settling with her. We had a large family of pets to begin with, and one more was bring up question and concern with hows and doubt. But I can hardly recall a time that we've ever turned away the homeless. Angel's sweetness and love-you-regardless attitude quickly won us over.

I know I'm not the only one who gives their pet a "voice." Whenever we would talk to Angel or made her talk, you'd have to do it with a little spit in your cheek, rather, "wish a lil' schpit in your scheek." What would you expect from a little floppy lipped, mush-mouth like that?

Angel was very much a boxer right up to the end. She retained that goofy puppy attitude even in her old age, walking sideways waggling that little nubbin', tounge lagging out, and head bobbing with the biggest, loving grin you ever saw.

Angel had lived a good and memorable 12 years, a champion feat for a boxer, and in her early years, mothered two litters of puppies. Never snappy or rowdy, but always gentle, Angel truly was a Godsend.

"Shee you later, shilly girl."

Thank you to for taking and making the photo.