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"When I was a puppy, I entertained you with 

my antics and made you laugh. You called me 

your child and despite a number of chewed 

shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, 

I became your best friend. Whenever I was 

"bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask 

"How could you?" - but then you'd relent and 

roll me over for a belly rub. 

My house training took a little longer than 

expected, because you were terribly busy, but 

we worked on that together. I remember those 

nights of nuzzling you in bed, listening to your 

confidences and secret dreams, and I believed 

that life could not be any more perfect. We 

went for long walks and runs in the park, car 

rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone 

because "ice cream is bad for dogs," you said), 

and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you 

to come home at the end of the day.

Gradually, you began spending more time at 

work and on your career, and more time 

searching for a human mate. I waited for you 

patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks 

and disappointments, never chided you about 

bad decisions, and romped with glee at your 

homecomings, and when you fell in love.

She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" - 

still I welcomed her into our home, tried to 

show her affection, and obeyed her. I was 

happy because you were happy. Then the 

human babies came along and I shared your 

excitement. I was fascinated by their 

pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to 

mother them, too. Only she and you worried 

that I might hurt them, and I spent most of 

my time banished to another room, or to a 

dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but 

I became a "prisoner of love."

As they began to grow, I became their friend. 

They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up 

on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, 

investigated my ears and gave me kisses on 

my nose. I loved everything about them, 

especially their touch - because your touch 

was now so infrequent - and I would have 

defended them with my life if need be.

I would sneak into their beds and listen to their 

worries and secret dreams. Together we 

waited for the sound of your car in the 

driveway. There had been a time, when others 

asked you if you had a dog, that you produced 

a photo of me from your wallet and told them 

stories about me. These past few years, you 

just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I 

had gone from being your dog to "just a dog," 

and you resented every expenditure on my 

behalf.

Now you have a new career opportunity in 

another city and you and they will be moving 

to an apartment that does not allow pets. 

You've made the right decision for your 

"family," but there was a time when I was your 

only family.

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