I was 9.

I wanted a puppy.

Mom called and said we were going to get you.

I couldn’t say anything though, because you were going to be a family surprise–

But you were about to be mine.

We went to pick you up at that house in Connecticut.

You were the runt of your litter– The weakest, but you'd be okay.

That precious face and your gentle manner–The perfect puppy I had dreamed of.

The entire way home, I held your little body in my little arms.

Towards the end of the ride, you got carsick.

It grossed me out, but it was okay– You were little, you could only handle so much.

I walked in with you, and surprised my young siblings.

We had a new puppy.

You were home.

It wasn't perfect.

We taught you how to sit, and though we attempted, no other tricks seemed to follow.

Sometimes you barked as the neighbors walked by.

Sometimes you peed in the house.

But it was okay, you were home.

You quickly became a part of everyday life, and soon enough you’d been here a year, then two, then five, then ten, then 12:

12 years of you nearly being tripped on when you stood by the kitchen table, never missing a chance for food.

12 years of many bad haircuts, and me yelling at many groomers.

12 years of pretending you were Simba in “The Circle of Life,” (yes, that never got old), dressing you up or making you a part of our famous childhood motion pictures, and no matter where we went– everyone always saying how cute you were.

Then we both got older– I went to college, and got a little more lively, you stayed home, and got a little less.

But coming home to you was always the best:

You never needed attention, you would just stay with me, and sit, and rest.

I was leaving for my final year of college.

I said goodbye to you, as usual, and that you were my favorite.

Then two weeks later, I got the call that you were sick.

I prayed, but I knew:

You were little, you could only handle so much.

A few days later, I heard you were gone.

I saw pictures and videos from your last day, just minutes before it turned bad.

You were out in the sun, running and enjoying the day.

I’m happy you had that.

I wish I could have been with you.

I was there in the beginning, I should have been there in the end.

But if I was, I would say:

Thank you.

For being the best puppy I could have asked for.

For all the moments of laughter and joy.

For being there for the fearless 9 year old, the awkward 13 year old, the blindly optimistic 17 year old, the lost 19 year old, the stunningly intelligent and beautiful 21 year old that I am today (lol), and every stage in between.

For being a part of the family and my childhood.

I’ll always you cherish in my heart.

You did a lot in your little lap- dog life.

I hope you felt as loved as you were.