Before I reached around eight years old, I had always loved being an only child. I thought it was great that I didn’t have to share my toys with anybody else and that I didn’t have to compete with anybody else for my parents’ attention. I think my mother sometimes felt bad that I had no siblings to play with, but I assured her that I was completely happy as an only child. I thought that I would always be happy as an only child. Yet as I grew older, that viewpoint began to change.

When my friends complained about how annoying their siblings were or described their fights with them, I would pretend to sympathize along with them, saying things about how living with a sibling must be so difficult and about how annoying their sibling must be. I would tell them that I felt sorry for them, but all I really felt was jealousy. It used to make me so sad when people said that they hated their siblings and that they wished they didn’t exist because I would just think about how much I wished that I could even have that chance to have someone to fight with, how I much I wished I even had the chance to have someone to “hate” like that. Because at the end of the day, family is family, and I felt as if I was missing a huge piece of that by being an only child. On some days, I would just feel so alone.

I knew that getting a sibling was out of the question, but I also knew that I wanted a companion at home with me. I had always loved animals, and I started continuously begging for a dog. My parents said no each time, but I would persist. Eventually, they caved in.

Many people have very close relationships with their dogs, but I think mine became extra close because he took the spot of a missing sibling. Even though I knew he probably didn’t understand anything I was saying and couldn’t say anything back, middle school me would talk to him for hours on end and share stories about my day with him. I would cry with him and laugh with him. People would tell me that I was stupid for talking to my dog, but hey, talking to my dog was better than talking to air.

There are so many things that I love about my dog. He’s never gotten along that well with other dogs, but he’s incredibly at ease around any human. He looks as if he is always smiling, and his goofy demeanor can make anyone smile along with him. When I come home and open the door after a tiring day away, I can always expect to find him jumping up and down, wagging his bushy tail, ready to be picked up and hugged. On some days, he likes to lie with his head on my lap while I am studying or reading and he always paws at my hands so that I will give him a belly rub. When I am upset, he’ll rush over and stare up at me with his warm brown eyes, comforting me with just a simple glance.

My dog may not be a human sibling, but he is a friend that has kept me company on the days I have spent alone at home, a loyal companion who is always by my side. I don’t think he will ever know how grateful I am for his presence, how grateful I am that he has found his way into my life. He made one only child much less lonely, and I thank him for that.