Obituaries

Zoe was a French bulldog, 13 years old, and she died of cancer—an unfair end for a force of nature who never did anything quietly or halfway.
She was the scoundrel of all scoundrels. A professional tissue thief. A relentless chaser of balls of all varieties. A sworn enemy of feet in slippers. Occasionally, a humper of legs, with no apologies and no regrets. She lived by her own rules and enforced them with snorts, side-eye, and an iron will packed into a compact, muscular body.
She loved with her whole being. Fiercely. Devotedly. Completely. She was the best snuggler we ever knew, somehow managing to take up an entire couch while pressed directly against your heart. She had the biggest personality in the smallest, stoutest frame, and she made sure every room knew when she entered it—and when she fell asleep. A snorer extraordinaire, her nightly soundtrack was both loud and deeply comforting, the sound of home.
She was also a seasoned traveler, always ready to go wherever we went—even on airplanes. Wherever we landed, she made herself immediately at home, claiming hotel beds, vacation couches, and our laps with equal authority.
She loved steak with a devotion usually reserved for religion, and she loved the beach—especially digging furiously in the sand as if she were certain something important was just a few inches below the surface. Sandy paws, salty air, and a full belly were among her greatest joys.
She saw us through everything: medical residency, law school, the bar exam, and the beautiful chaos of building a family—three kids, including twins. She was there for the exhaustion, the tears, the victories, the long nights, and the quiet moments that held us together. She didn’t care about titles or accomplishments; she cared that you sat down so she could climb into your lap.
She loved to suckle her stuffed lion, Lionel, with the same intensity she brought to everything else in her life—odd, tender, and completely her own.
She was ridiculous. She was perfect. She was ours.
We will miss the snoring, the snuggling, the scolding of slippered feet, the surprise attacks, the balls under furniture, the stolen tissues, the sandy paws, and the way she loved us without limit. The house is quieter now, and our hearts are louder with her absence.
Run free, you glorious cute little menace. You were deeply loved, and you always will be.