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Nathan was a lover. He loved playing tag, he loved car rides, and he loved going for long walks in whatever direction his nose took him. But his favorite thing to love was being touched. If your hand was anywhere near where his head could be, he’d find a way to make it happen. It didn’t matter who you were, so long as you had a hand (or a foot, if you were relaxing) for him to stand under. Nathan was only nine years old when we lost him to lymphoma, but we will never forget his gentle soul, his sweet eyes, and his soft, soft fur. Thanks for everything, old friend — sweet baby to the end.–Heather Acosta

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