My mom called me around dinner last night. "We're putting Dunkin down tonight, just thought I'd let you know." Dunkin, was my family's pet dog for the past 6-7 years. A Bichon Frise, he was affectionately known as "a little white fluff ball" with a tail that curled onto up onto his back mirrored with a quirky, "how can you not like me?!" personality. Over the past few months, he was withering away from a bounding bowing ball shape to a frail skeleton, not eating much and barely able to stand. As with many pets, the vet wasn't exactly sure what was up and my parents weren't about to invest thousands into a guessing game. They'd prefer he live out whatever days he had left as best he could at home being loved.