I think it's safe to say that many people have experienced the deeply moving and profound love that you can only feel for a pet that has changed your life. This love can be experienced at any point in one's life, young or old. For some, it will be a first pet, but for others, like myself, it will be the love of a pet who came during what can be deemed some of the most crucial years of one's development: adolescence.

I remember when my father took my mom, my brother and I to the pet store and pointed out a little, white bundle of energy, only a few months old. We fell in love. We begged and pleaded, and she became a part of our family, only a few days shy of Christmas.

We named her Foxy, and we grew up together. At the time of her adoption, I was 10 years old. Little did I know at such a young age that she would leave paw prints on my heart, a tattoo that would last a lifetime.

Ten years later, I finished my freshman year of college and I lost my best friend, all within the month of May. Foxy's death was sudden, unpreventable. I admit that even to this day, I have not fully recovered from the unforeseeable loss I experienced on that May morning.

I still can't read Facebook posts about the immense grief the loss of a beloved pet will leave behind.

I can’t watch "Marley & Me."

I can’t bare to delete her photos off my phone, no matter how much time passes.

Foxy was there for me. In elementary school when I was bullied. In middle school when I couldn't quite figure out who I was or who I wanted to be. In high school, when things changed at rapid pace, a blur of emotions. In college, because I felt nothing else could possibly go wrong and all I wanted was for someone to sit with me and not say a word.

Our pets become such a vital part of our life, and we don't realize how deep our love runs until we lose them. I had ten wonderful years with Foxy, but never would I have guessed that there would not have been more to come. I thought Foxy would live through my college years. I thought that I'd come home for every summer vacation, spring break, Thanksgiving, and Christmas to her unconditional love.

But that's not how it went. In a matter of hours she went from the peppy, healthy girl I knew to gone. Just gone.

I still keep the mementoes. The photo on my nightstand. The clay paw print given to us at the emergency animal hospital the morning she died. I planted a tree over the spot she is buried in my backyard as a reminder that death does not have to be the end, a reminder that memories live on.

I like to think that one day the grief I feel will lessen. That one day I'll wake up on the anniversary of her death and won't feel the tears well in my eyes. That one day I'll be able to love another pet as deeply I loved her. But I know that day is not today.

If you have experienced the loss of a pet, one who became a part of the family, one so crucial in your life, then you understand the pain I have attempted to describe. You know the feeling of sadness that creeps up when you see a pet that reminds you of the one you lost. Of the bittersweet feeling that emerges when you see a child playing with their new puppy. The guilty relief of knowing that their pain and suffering has ended, even if yours has not, because nothing could ever erase the paw prints they left across your heart.