The first dog I had, Becky, a beagle, my parents had gotten before I was born. She died when I was a mere 5-6 years old. It hurt, but I didn't know enough about life and death to really understand what had happened.

After Becky, there was a gap of a few years. We got P.J. when I was about 8 years old. She was our first border collie. She was a rescue, about 9 months old when we got her. While my parents paid for her adoption and upkeep, she was really my dog. I was the family member that she bonded most with - even sleeping in my bed most nights. I walked her, fed her, and played with her the most. She died early, a victim of Collie Eye Anomaly (which rendered her blind at about 6 years old) and later Hip Dysplasia, along with severe arthritis. She couldn't move around at all without pain. She tried to hide the amount of pain she was in, but she wasn't able to hide it completely. We knew. We had to put her down when I was about 19 - it was the only humane thing to do. I was with her as she got the injection and closed her eyes for the last time. With her last breath, she managed to lick my other hand (the one that wasn't scratching behind her ear), giving me one final puppy kiss.

How did I deal with it? Mostly internally - I've never been one to express emotion in public. I did cry myself to sleep over her on more than a few nights, though. Mostly I just convinced myself that she was happier no longer feeling pain than she would have been with us.

After P.J., my family never got another dog while I was living at home.

I was 25 when I got my next dog, my current dog, Dubhradh (pronounced Doov-rath, accent on the first syllable), a name that means Shadow in Gaelic. She was another rescue. I got her from an ex who couldn't have her in the place she was moving into. Dubh was about a year and a half old when I got her. That was ten years ago.

Dubh is still quite lively, and still in great shape. Border collies are known for being among the longest lived for their size - about 15-18 years. When she goes, I don't know how I'll deal with it, as she's the closest puppy I've ever had. I trained her. I loved her. I let her sleep in my bed for many years. She always knows when I'm feeling down, sick, or otherwise blah - as she places her head in my lap, and looks at me with those beautiful golden eyes asking, "Is there anything I can do to help?" The bond I have with her is deep. We're nearly one in the same.

Even though she doesn't live with me (my current living situation makes it prohibitively costly to allow animals), she is still my best friend - and really the only reason to visit my father (who she's currently living with).