"As I pace, I look down through the skylight and see my spaniel Ella's gentle eyes looking back up at me. Like me, she has been wakeful all night. She senses my strange, agitated state of mind. She cannot climb the ladder-I would not want her to; it is too dangerous on the exposed rooftop-but she is standing at the foot of it imploring me with her eyes to come down. What would Ella do without me? She depends on me and I on her. I begin to pace again. I glance down the ladder again. Ella has not moved. I have loved her with every bit of my being since she was a tiny, sightless newborn pup. She has been my companion, my hope, my support through my darkest days. She has loved me unconditionally, willing me through the bleak pre-dawn hours. Even when I have not felt the labor of living is worth the effort, I take her for walks and feed her. She gives me purpose, a reason to be. How can I contemplate leaving her now? I haul myself back from the brink, slowly climb down the ladder and stroke Ella's silky head. She is the reason I do not take that fatal leap. She is Ella, the dog who saved my life."