Veronica loved her dog. It was a Yorkshire terrier. Its name was Randolph.
How she loved it; loved it, loved it. Poor little Randolph had arthritis. It didn’t stop him from looking after her though. He would hobble painfully to tell her of an encroaching visitor. It would cuddle up to her closely when he knew she was lonely. It was as loyal as they come. It suffered quite a lot. It did it’s best to make Veronica happy. Oh, if only some humans were so other-orientated. But Veronica had him put down. It broke her heart.
Eventually Veronica herself died. She went to heaven.
Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him.
“Where’s my dog?” asked Veronica.