Biscuit Hartley

Biscuit came home in April of 2013 as a rolling ball of golden fur that fit in the crook of an elbow. The Hartley family had debated getting a dog for years, and from the moment Biscuit tumbled off a pile of blankets in the kitchen on his first night, no one debated anything anymore. He was home, and so were they. He grew into a big, steady presence -- the kind of dog that greeted every person who walked through the door as though they were the best thing that had happened to him all day. He had a particular fondness for tennis balls and a particular talent for hiding them in shoes. The kids learned early that you checked your sneakers before putting them on. He could carry two balls in his mouth simultaneously and seemed to know this was impressive. Biscuit spent his last winter closer to the fire, slower on the stairs, but still wagging when someone reached for his ears. He passed on a quiet January morning with the family around him, which was exactly how he had always been -- surrounded by the people he loved. The house still feels different without the sound of him settling onto the kitchen floor.