Boots,

You were small and black, with plenty of fur. Your tiny teeth were straight, but you had an underbite. That was one of my favorite things about you. You weren't much of a guard dog; although you barked at everyone who came to the door and everyone who walked down the street, you were their best friend once they got through the door. You never picked favorites. At nighttime you would wander the halls and select a different person to share your warmth with each night. You begged during every meal, but it was worth it to hear you smack your lips for each salty french fry. Fries were your favorite treat. You always sat under your favorite shady tree and moved your head from side to side, watching me swing. You licked the tears off of my face and bowed your head when I cried, and jumped with joy and wagged your tail when I laughed or talked in a silly voice. In the winters you were swallowed by the snow, and in the summers you overheated because the sun was attracted to your thick black fur. You never left the yard, and you never ran away. If I called out for you, you would always come. You had a small white patch on your tummy. You hated walks and car rides, but loved pigs ears and tug of war. You once ate a squirrel and had to get a rabies shot, and we were sure to watch you closely in the backyard after that. You didn't exactly love the cat, but you didn't hate her either. You were my best friend the entire time I knew you. Eventually your black fur turned silver, and your eyes developed spots. Your movements grew slower, and you ran into things a lot, but you were still the best dog ever. You still played tug of war, still snuggled at night, still begged for food. Until one day you didn't. I was swinging outside, and you were under your favorite tree. You began to cry and shake, and I hadn't known it at the time but you were suffering from a heart attack. Once your episode ended, we were unable to get you to the vet right away, and you were laying in the yard. After all of the years of you laying beside me when I was sick or sad, it was finally my turn. I could never repay you for all that you had done, but together we laid in yard, under your favorite shady tree. I rubbed your head and you began to relax, and the next day you acted as though you were fine, but you weren't. Not too long after that, you died. Before you died, I went to McDonald's and bought an order of French fries. For every fry I ate, you ate one as well. I cried knowing it was the last time I would hear you smack your lips in joy at the taste of the salt. We buried you under your favorite shady tree in the backyard. I was the last one to go back into the house. I pumped my legs on the swing one last time, and pretended that you were there to watch, but you weren't. Several years have passed, and the swingset is gone. I left to go away for college, and we have a new dog. She lays under the shady tree that you loved so much, and she has your great spirit. I still think of you often, and saw it only fitting to write you a proper letter of thanks. Until we meet again, I love you. You were the best dog ever.

--Brittany