Dizzy, late in life, developed a close relationship with her cloth soccer ball. It was purchased long ago from Ikea. If I asked her, "Dizzy, where's your ball," she would dart off to find it, regardless of where it was in the house. When she found it, she would shake it vigorously --- we think she thought it was a squirrel, and she was finally killing her prey. Every once in a while, she would get so excited, she would toss it in the air. At times it would land out of sight. She was like a one year old in her delight in hide-and-go-seek.

Dizzy was at her happiest swimming in Woods Hole. She was delirious, drunk, frantic, unable to stop. She would not go in without a rock thrown for her to chase -- but then swam after pebbles tossed further and further out into the bay.