I remember the day we brought you home like it was just last week. Mom and Dad told me that for my sixth birthday, we could go to the animal shelter and pick out a puppy for the family. As any other six-year-old would react, my heart pitter-patted with excitement at the idea of having a new little furry family member running around the house. As the gravel under our tires crunched in the Double J Pet Ranch parking lot, my only thought was on finding the perfect puppy that we could love and would love us back.

It took no time at all after entering the facility. Before we were barely checked in, my little eyes had pinned themselves on a sweet, tiny ball of brown fur huddled next to her brothers and sisters. I knew in my heart that this little puppy was special; I knew you were the one. There was a lingering problem, though. I had so quickly fallen in love with you, without realizing the fact that you were extremely ill. Parvo, kennel cough, distemper, hip dysplasia, the list went on and on. But in my eyes, you were more than just a sick dog. You were a baby that needed a home, and I wanted to give that to you.

With some convincing, my parents and I filled out the paperwork to take you home on a foster basis. It was on the back patio that you wandered in the grass and became acquainted with your new home. It was also here that you received the name that seemed to fit you like a glove: Molly.

The next few months entailed many vet visits, late nights, and so much love put into you, little Molly. With some time, you began to transform before our eyes. No longer was the sickly puppy here; instead, you were replaced by a smiling, happy, lovable companion.

It took no time for you to become a part of the family. Soon it felt normal to not worry about dropping food on the ground and bending down to pick it up because you were there to snag whatever the morsel was. It became routine to take you everywhere we could, especially the lake where you loved to swim. Before too long even the neighbors were falling in love with your joyful smile and ever-wagging tail. You were such a beautiful part of our family for 12 long, wonderful years.

As the time passed your face grayed, you became a little slower, went a little less and slept a lot more. Never once, though, did your sweet temperament falter. Before any of us were ready, that twelfth year came. Last fall we had to say goodbye to you, Molly. It was by far one of the hardest goodbyes I have ever had to say; it was more than bidding a pet farewell, it was letting go of a dog that had become my best friend. Even now, almost a year later, there are still tears filling my eyes as I think about that first night spent knowing you wouldn’t be there when I woke in the morning.

I am however thankful for the pain because it is a side effect of loving you so dearly. So instead of being sad about losing you, I choose to remember all the years we shared. I choose to remember the good morning kisses, wrestling sessions, and lazy afternoons. I remember how you seemed to know when I needed someone to cry on, and never failed to cheer me up even on the darkest of days. I remember the little things, the big things, and every part in between that made you so special .

Many who knew you said you were lucky – spoiled even - to have found a home like ours. What they don't know is that we are the spoiled ones, because we had the pleasure of being loved by your sweet heart and blessed with your happy soul. I guess what I am trying to say is thank you, Molly, for being everything I hoped you would be and so much more. Thank you for being my first best friend, most loyal companion, and hardest goodbye.