Juniper Callahan

Juniper Callahan was the kind of golden retriever who treated every visitor like a long-lost cousin. She spent nearly fifteen years padding through muddy fields in Vermont, riding shotgun with her head out the window, and quietly stationing herself under the kitchen table whenever someone looked sad. If there was an unattended tennis ball within a mile, Juniper considered it a legal invitation. Her family still laughs about the winter she stole three mittens, all from different people, and built a little collection behind the couch like some furry tax collector. She grew gray in the face but never in spirit. Juniper leaves behind muddy paw prints on a thousand memories and a house that feels much too quiet without her.