My 12-year-old golden retriever, Timber, died last week: We believe it was peacefully in his sleep. This was the dog I had grown up with, he was my brother, my best friend, my main man. The minute my mom called me and said it happened I did not hesitate, I went over to say my goodbyes and give him one last kiss.

I held his paw, as I had whenever I sat with him, smoothing his fur down his leg, and petting his velvety ears. I whispered my goodbyes and told him how much we all loved him, I said goodbye for my siblings who could not say it themselves. I also told him he had always been my favorite, reminding him that it was a secret; he was always good at keeping my secrets.

They took him away on a stretcher and my heart sank. My best friend was gone.

I have only had to go through one other dog death that I fully understood. The other I had been too young to understand. My other dog we put down; he was suffering and it was hard to watch, so we put him down and sent him to a better place. It was hard too; no matter how bad that dog felt he was always so happy to be around you.

But my TimTim was different. He had just gone sledding with us on Thanksgiving. He walked two miles the day before. I knew he was getting old, but I did not want to believe it.

Dog deaths are hard and it is kind of weird, but at the same time it is not weird at all. They are our best friends. They are the ones who are the most excited to see us whenever we come home or just reenter a room. They show us so much love, the love that we deserve and the love that we need in that moment.

We tell our deepest secrets to them and they do not judge us for anything we confess to them. They comfort us when we need it, they know when we are sad, happy, or need a hug. They love us more than they love themselves, and that is something that we all need, something that makes us feel so special.

We hide ourselves from people. We keep a part of ourselves locked away because people do judge. But dogs don't, and that is why we are our full selves around them, that is why they know us better than anyone else. And we know them; we know their personalities and their quirks. We know how their minds work and what makes them excited and scared. And we always have that in the back of our minds, never wanting to leave them alone when they would be scared and bringing home their favorite treats to watch them wiggle around excitedly trying and failing to control themselves.

Tim was kind of a weirdo, taking after his family. He was shy and reserved. He would get excited to see you and run up to you whining his happy whine, carrying a pair of pants or a slipper in his mouth. But the minute you acknowledged him, he got nervous and ran to his safe spot under the coffee table. On walks he would only go to the bathroom when he was off his leash and had a safe spot to hide out of view where he could do his business in peace.

My little weirdo. Timber hated cuddles and hugs. He hated getting kisses but loved giving them. He loved walks and hated fetch. He would walk around the house going in every room just to check on the family, and he would come up to you and let you stroke his soft head for a few seconds and then leave. He would slowly climb on the couch next to you, hoping that if he went slow enough you would not notice, then he would just lie there, looking sad but at peace, sitting with his best friend.

He was so calm, yet so excited. Loved with all his heart, but did not want you to acknowledge his love. He cared so deeply for our family and wanted to take care of all of us.

And now he is gone. My main man, Tim, had to leave us. And I will forever miss him and forever be thankful for having a dog who loved us all so unconditionally, with everything he had.

Here is to the pets who care for us more than we deserve sometimes, for the pets who would do anything and everything for us. Here's to you, TimTim.