The year was 1998 and I was just a small baby living in Tucson, Az. Several months back, my sister, Nicole, had been relentlessly begging my mom and dad to get her a puppy. They had been resistant to this point, but a friend brought over the tiniest little Yorkie puppy and all their resolve went out the window. She was the sweetest little dog and was only half the size of my sister’s shoe. No one could resist and soon we were the proud owners of this adorable puppy my sister called Daisy. This particular night started off like any other night. It was a chilly fall evening and we were getting settled in after a long day. My mom was holding me in her arms and feeding me. Nicole was downstairs getting ready for bed. For some reason, Daisy kept going to the door and whining. Now, up to this point my mom had continually warned us not to let the dog outside by herself. Daisy was only just over three pounds, and the desert is filled with predators that could easily hurt her. For some reason on this night, my dad decided to let her out alone while he went to get something. It was eerily quiet, and suddenly my mom had a bad feeling. She called out to my dad to please bring the dog back in. But before he could get to the door, they heard Daisy crying. The sound of her cry went so quickly from the front to the side of the house, and they knew something was carrying her away. Everyone started scrambling to get outside, my dad in the lead and my mom running with me still in her arms, followed by Nicole. As my dad rounded the corner on the outside of the house, he tumbled down the stairs making a loud thud. He continued around to the back of the house to try to find the dog. That was when he saw the large bobcat run from the deck that was outside my parents’ bedroom and jump over the fence. They could hear our tiny little Daisy whimpering and they found her lying on the deck in a pool of blood. My dad picked her up in his arms, all of us crying, and my mom said everything is going to be ok (even though I don’t think she really believed that). While we waited anxiously at home, my dad rushed the dog to the vet. Five hundred dollars and several stitches later, the vet told us that we were lucky and Daisy was going to be ok. The bobcat’s teeth had just missed puncturing an artery. From that time on, we decided that Daisy was part cat and must have nine lives. She suddenly became this fearless tiny little dog with a big dog attitude. She was afraid of nothing. She would confront dogs much bigger than her and they would run away in fear. She was small, but mighty. That was the day we renamed her Bobcat Daisy. And needless to say, my dad never let her out alone again.