A sunny day is just a day to many. January's shorter days, sunny or not, can easily sweeten one's appreciation for sunshine and the days, hours or moments it fills. There are times in our lives when we identify so readily with either sunlight or shadows that we feel embraced or isolated accordingly. Like humans, there are also animals that seem to embody these qualities.

Such was the case with my dog, Sunny and, as his name implies, he symbolized sunny days in the brightest sense of the word. My very first column in this magazine (September 2008) featured Sunny. I ended it by writing, "I pray for the courage and fortitude to continue embracing change when it is time to tell Sunny goodbye. Until then, I thank God and Sunny daily for transforming darkness into light." This summer I watched Sunny's hip dysplasia and arthritis worsen to the extent that I anticipated my final year with him. The end arrived too quickly.

Life is a transient journey and time is fleeting. Whether one lives for ten years or one hundred, goodbyes are inevitable, painful and often abrupt. Throughout November, signs indicated a dramatic decline in Sunny's well being. Pain dictated his world and medications were required at closer intervals. When his hind legs began to fail him more often than not, I realized the time of agonizing decisions had arrived. If I could have carried him around and continued to bring him happiness, I would have carried him forever. However, his seizures and plaintive barks alerted me to his heightened suffering. I considered my own life and the idea if I am ever in constant pain, lose my mobility, and my quality of life is so severely diminished – I hope that God will take me and humanity will have the courage and grace to let me go.

Losing Sunny is the deepest loss of my adult life. Through divorce and saying goodbye to many relatives who passed, Sunny was my shadow, my best friend, my sunlight. So I must ask myself, “If sunlight leaves, does it mean I live in darkness?” Initially, the feeling, the loss screams a resounding, “YES!” Then, I think of Sunny.

Sunny taught me to live and embrace sunshine. In Sunny's honor, I must embrace that energy he defined.

Sunny taught me to love all good souls at every opportunity, to dance when I'm happy. Until the month before Sunny passed, he danced every time he received a milk bone.

Sunny loved to fetch. Throw not one, not two but three or four toys and he'd attempt to play with them all at the same time.

Bark at potential danger, but if it looks like a real threat, run for cover. Sunny's size was intimidating. Multiple times I was afraid that he unnecessarily (though innocently) frightened a neighbor. As he barked and I ran to retrieve him, my running seemed to cause him added concern. Instead of running toward the stranger, he turned and run back to the house.

When push comes to shove, stand your ground and defend the ones you love. One night, Sunny stood up to an intruder in the middle of the night for 45 minutes. He tracked my parents' dog the week he passed away. It enabled us to allow him to die surrounded by love.

Sunny was my canine knight in shining, golden fur. Sunny taught me that it is not the time in life we're given, but the life we put into our time. Thank you, Sunny. And thank you, God, for sunny days and sunny dogs like mine.