And then she was gone

Umbilical cord attached, eyes closed, and a whimper that failed to resemble a bark.
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The storm hit the Municipality with such immediate and instant force that a street-level flood was a foregone conclusion.
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The professional put her at between three and five days old.
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Without a mother to provide protection, an SUV tire diverting the onslaught of water was the only thing between her and death.
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209 grams of wiry muscle was her fighting weight.
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The owner of the metal box, motor and electronics attached to the mass of protective rubber noticed the tiny morsel of a pup and carted her to safety.
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The white boots worn on two paws and her underbelly was off-set perfectly by the jet black fur adorning the remainder of her miniature body.
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She arrived wrapped in a towel and housed in a dilapidated cardboard box.
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She would wiggle, cry and paw when disturbed, but loved the warmth of human flesh.
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While it was settled that the office collective would raise her during the days, a tall, somewhat lonely, and dog loving member of the group---at his own suggestion---was tasked with caring for her throughout the night; after further consultation, a decision was made to make the same her adoptive father.
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The meatier parts of the body provided her with the most comfort, but complete contentment was achieved when she was placed in the rolls of skin around the tall man's belly, or the breasts of the many women who flocked and jockeyed to cradle and comfort her.
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She awoke three times that first night, eager to be held and eat her man-made formula through a .1 oz. dropper.
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The office attitude shifted immediately, where the stress created by the recent intrusion of an unwanted outsider and months of constant driving towards a yet unreached goal melted into toothy grins and talk of an imagined future.
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Her cries, while distressing and sad, tickled the ears of those lucky enough to be in her presence.
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Notwithstanding the original agreement to keep her presence a secret from the surrounding populace, visitors came in droves, eager to take part in the bi-hourly feedings.
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Her fits of fight and struggle to burrow indicated a strength and will to live that allowed her admirers to forget the fragility of a being that small.
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By day three she had been showered with a stuffed rabbit, pug scarf, ticking clock, heating pad and a knit sweater.
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With the whimper, movement and will to eat gone, the office broke into a collective panic--the professional was consulted and an emergency visit was made and the news was devastating; she was brought back to her adoptive home in the hopes that antibiotics, love and a battle for life would bring our precious back from the brink.
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Mouth open, tongue out, eyes closed, legs outstretched, and body motionless and rigid; the time for miracles had come and gone, with prayers unanswered.
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The tears were real, pain plentiful, and questions unanswerable.
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In a last show of love, her once vibrant remains were buried amongst the bushes and trees adorning the grounds where she touched and changes the lives, at least momentarily, of so many strong minded and seeming impenetrable individuals.
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Leila was between five and seven days old and died of fading puppy syndrome. Watching her pass was one of the hardest things this tall, sometimes lonely, dog loving man has ever experienced, and I have seen my fair share.