I remember the day my Dad brought you home.

I was 6 or 7. I'm sorry I can't remember exactly how old I was. But I know I was so excited to meet you.

It was early December. Dad brought you in. You were the biggest stuffed dog I had ever seen! He said you were a St. Bernard. So I thought of the perfect name for you:

Bernardo.

Not super creative, I know. But boy, I loved you.

Dad said you were to only be out December, because you were a Christmas dog.

I cried when he put you away for the first time. I thought life had ended. I missed your soft fur, your droopy eyes, your floppy ears, and your big pink tongue that stuck out. You were the perfect stuffed animal, and I had many. I knew my stuffed animals.

Year after year I always looked forward to you coming out of the Christmas bin. You'd smell like Christmas decorations. Dusty, but with a hint of pine needles. I loved that smell.

Finally, when I was 16, Christmas ended, and I waited for that dreaded day when my Dad would come take him back to the Christmas bin. That day never came. You were still in my room three months later. You got to enjoy your first spring, your first summer too. You were mine! My dad would see you in my room every now and then and ask with a smile, "What's Bernardo doing out?" I'd shrug and say, "He didn't want to go back." That would satisfy my Dad, and you would stay with me.

However, the novelty of you didn't last. I'm sorry, Bernardo. Maybe my Dad was wise to keep you hidden 11 months of the year. Because I missed you and loved you. Now that you were here all the time, you didn't seem as special.

I'm sorry I didn't see that, my old friend. You ended up on my floor or under my bed more times than not.

I turned 18. I graduated from High School. I went to BYU. I didn't take you. I could have used my big guard dog who would chase away nightmares and who brightened up my room. I had a really hard first semester. I cried. A lot. Lots of long nights and long talks with friends and family later, I came home. To earn more money, and to get better.

You were still there to greet me. Fur a little less soft, eyes and ears more saggy, a little less stuffing in you, but still you were there. Sitting at the head of my bed. What a glorious sight you were.

Coming home, I was sad. There were many nights where I held you close, letting all my fears and sadnesses flow into you. Holding you so tightly, I believed my anxiety would vanish. You made me forget my troubles. You were still my friend even though I had forgotten you.

Bernardo, I'm still at home. And every day, you are on my bed. One day, you're going to let out a deep, clear, bark. I just know it.

Thanks for being there pal. I love you.