My first word was "dog." Odd, I know right? Yes sir, not "mama" or "dada" like most kids. I leaned up against the glass door and peered out the window, gaze transfixed on my Nana's Springer Spaniel and babbled my very first word, "Dog." Needless to say this precious utterance scored me an also precious puppy from my super cool uncle for my second Christmas.

But when you give a girl a dog, you don't just give her a hyper ball of fur that chews up the furniture and sees the world as one giant restroom, you give her a companion, a playmate, and a best friend. The phrase man's best friend is not merely a myth, it's as much a fact as two times two equals four.

I opened up my very best friend when I was nine years old. Like most little kids, I asked for a dog every birthday. I promised I would be super responsible and feed it and clean up after it, and it would be just grand. I begged and pleaded. I wanted that dog more than I've ever wanted anything. And on my ninth birthday, I pulled out the most precious, perfect Chocolate Lab puppy, compete with a red ribbon around his neck. And then I stuck him right back in the bag because he wasn't potty trained, of course, only logical.

He was perfect as perfect could be, but little did I know that the day I pulled that ball of sweetness out of the bag wouldn't be the day that I loved him most. I named him Biscuit like Biscuit in the children's books and because don't we all have to own at least one animal named after a food? Because when you give a girl a dog, you give her more than a puppy.

Here's the thing about puppies, though: Puppies don't stay puppies forever, and I used to think that was a terrible thing. But really and truly for so many reasons it is not. There were shoes ripped to shreds, water bowls demolished, and holes enough for Stanley Yelnats. You turn your head for one second, and then he's in the neighbor's yard or longingly eying the street. At times, I wondered why I ever wanted a dog. I felt like there was sign taped to my forehead that read, "Please, pretty please jump on me and try to attack me." There were claw marks and puppy bite marks. When you give a girl a dog, you give her a challenge and a great adventure.

The puppy days leave as quick as they come, and before you know it you've got a dog on your hands. It's at this stage that they really begin to find their personality. They let you know they are deathly afraid of thunderstorms and try to run in the house as soon as the hairs on the back detect one. They begin to sing with the ambulances and firetrucks. They find out their favorite food is KFC leftovers or really any leftovers at all, although I do not encourage it. They decide the yard is really a pretty awesome place after they run down their first Tyson truck, and they begin to steal your heart. When you give a girl a dog, you give her a true friend.

As I grew up and matured, so did my sweet puppy. He couldn't wait to play basketball with me. He followed my daddy absolutely everywhere. On those hot summer days of conditioning, he ran for miles along side me to protect me from any of the neighborhood dogs that might be lurking, and more than once he stepped in. He learned to give anyone and everyone the most pitiful puppy dog face and convince them that he must have their leftovers or he would drop dead right then and there on the spot. I stroked his soft coat while I vented about the frustrations of life. His fur caught the tears of many a heartbreak, and he never ever left my side. When you give a girl a dog, you give her a comforter.

When a stray cat decided to bless our summer with kittens and disappear, it was my sweet Biscuit that stepped in to save the day. He cuddled with them and played with them and picked them up and moved them around, and never once did he try to harm a single hair on their heads. And when they grew up, he would let them climb up and sleep on his back. He was the best of friends to even his enemies. When you give a girl a dog, you give her compassion.

We always had a fall scene in our yard around Halloween. Mom and Dad would get hay bales and scarecrows and mums to complete the scene. One fall Mom forgot to get the mums, and Biscuit was not having it. He knew something was missing, and he was going to fix it. So our little hero visited the neighbors across the street and drug one of their mums straight to the very center of our fall scene. He was sooo proud of himself, though I'm not so sure about the neighbors. It was one of the simplest, sweetest acts of love. And I've never loved him more. When you give a girl a dog, you give her kindness.

I watched as the young and vibrant chocolate fur of my puppy slowly became speckled with gray. I watched the day he couldn't outrun the truck anymore. I even watched the day he couldn't manage to get up when I called his name. I knew the day was drawing near when he would no longer greet me at the backdoor; you know how you get that gut feeling. I prayed as he went to the vet, and I cried when I heard what they had to say. In the cold of January, I crawled under the deck and just sat and held my sweet, sweet puppy who was in so much pain, just as he had done for me so many times. He was just as perfect that day as he was the day, I pulled him out of the bag and our adventure begin. I never left his side because I knew he would do the same for me. I told him over and over what a good dog he was and that it was okay to leave me now. And I let his fur catch my tears one last time. My heart shattered into a million pieces the day I came home to find that he didn't come back from the vet, and every day I miss his sweetness. Because when you give a girl a dog, you give her a best friend.

We don't deserve dogs, but God's pretty good at giving us things that we don't really deserve. There's just a special connection between a girl and her dog. Because when you give a girl a dog, you give her love, and love is always the best thing you can give.

For my sweet, sweet puppy, St. Biscuit von Kessling