Bentley felt a little better a few days after Christmas. But. He is feeling rough again. He bit Sam's fingers last night. He bit my right hand in the area below my thumb, tonight.

Some folks have an impression that toy poodles are mean anyway. Perhaps some are. The two we have are so loved and have enjoyed such a full and happy life with us. They have always been extremely loving animals, to the surprise of some who stereotype.

Biting was never in Bentley's nature. His big, beautiful brown eyes are full of love and affection even now. He doesn't understand what is going on here. Sam and I are discussing the probability of having him put to sleep; something I never anticipated happening with this little white doggie. Oh my God, how will I get through this! I weep at the very thought of saying goodbye to our little guy. I will not allow him to suffer though. I will not.

We will see how things go in the next few days. I managed to put his sweater on him to keep him warmer this evening. This is how I got bit. I was very gentle with him, as he was with me, until I made some wrong move, I guess.

He has been hiding under our king-sized bed that sits up far enough off the floor for Bentley to nest under there. He does this when he is feeling really bad. I think he is also affected mentally concerning his "hiding place".

We have a "Jesse girl" as well. She is a funny looking, chocolate brown mix of a toy and a miniature poodle. She is stout, has really long legs, and a pretty little face. Jesse's eyes are smaller than Bentley's. He actually looks more like a bichon frise than a poodle. Jesse has the poodle face. She is 8 years old; great disposition, and seems fairly healthy other than needing better weight management; as does her human mommy. Jesse is such a fatty; she never stayed on our bed, even when we placed her there. She likes to roll around on her little bed 'neath Sam's nightstand; stretching and grunting like a little pig.

Bentley always slept on our bed with us, until now. Now we find him curling up next to Jesse on her bed under the nightstand, when he isn't demented; hiding and growling 'neath our bed.

God help me through this. The day I met Bentley, he was 12 weeks old. I took him home on January 15th in fact. Just around the corner is another anniversary of the day we met. Another story. Another time.