At the end of my senior year of high school, we had to put my dog down.

The dog that had lived with us since I was three.

There are still things that make me sad when I think about him - like how he wagged his tail for the first time in weeks, maybe months, when he got to ride in the car for the last time and both my sister and I were petting him and talking to him, or about his arthritis becoming so severe that he couldn't even leave his dog bed anymore. But I don't want to talk about the sad things, I just want to talk about him.

We got Skipper the dog from an animal rescue. He was a border collie mix that had been found in a dumpster when he was young. His name was Goatee when we got him, because he had a dash of white under his chin like a beard. My parents asked me what I wanted to name him. I said Skipper, because I liked watching the television show Kipper the Dog, and thought Kipper's name was Skipper. So, Skipper it was. Nicknames included Skip and Sir Licks-A-Lot (because he'd lick you to death sooner than cause anybody any harm).

Skipper had a funny quirk, especially for a border collie mix: he hated water. Even just walking by a sprinkler on a walk, he would go far out of his way to avoid even stepping on a small puddle. He hated his doghouse, though, so when it rained or snowed he'd hide underneath the deck or sit miserably underneath the outcropping from the roof. We tried putting his dog bed and toys in the doghouse, but he never ended up using it.

When he was young his favorite toy was a hedgehog that groaned rather than squeaked. He loved chasing it down the stairs and back, and sometimes threw it downstairs himself. He never really chased tennis balls, but when he was hyper he'd "run wild" and do laps around the yards. We could normally make him run even more by jumping at him after he was done. Afterwards, he'd lay down in the corner of the yard, where he eventually made an indentation from using it so much, and we'd sit with him and laugh.

There are two moments I remember about him vividly. Once, my sister and I were playing in our alleyway and we left the gate to the yard open. A person with their German Shepherd came walking by, and Skipper decided this other dog was a threat to us. He rushed out the open gate and tried to face off the other dog. Luckily, the owner had amazing control of the Shepherd and my parents were able to drag Skipper back into the yard as my sister and I panicked. We didn't punish him for leaving the yard, and this made me realize even as a young child how protective he was of us.

The other time was when my mom and I were talking to our neighbor in her yard. We aren't quite sure why, but Skipper decided to jump the small wooden fence into their yard to be with us. The problem was, raspberry bushes grew on the other side of the fence, and he landed right in the middle of them. He was fine, but he never jumped the fence again.

As he got older, he developed arthritis. The vet gave us medicine for it, which worked for a while, but eventually, he could barely walk. He was fourteen or fifteen when we finally put him down. The words of consolation of "he's not in pain anymore" don't help. I like remembering him when he was young and playful and a wonderful companion. I don't think we kept his leash, but we still have his worn collar and tags as a physical reminder of Skipper the dog.