I went back and forth about this topic, to write or not to write, so I decided to write. You don’t know that a pet can change your life, until it happens, and it did.

I was 12 years old when, for some reason (fate maybe), my father and I made a trip to the local animal shelter. Little did I know my life would be forever changed by a tiny, annoying Cocker Spaniel who would later be named Delilah. I’ve never seen a dog who could jump like her. She reminds me of Tigger from "Winnie The Pooh"; it’s almost like she had a spring in her backside that hurdled her in the air to get the attention she so desperately needed all the time.

I remember she was in a small crate inside the animal shelter office. I’ll be honest, I didn’t see her at first, but she saw me and must’ve known that she would find her forever home with me. Little Delilah threw herself against the front, side, and top of that crate until I had no choice but to turn around and look at her. When I did, I fell in love with her big feet, fuzzy ears and crooked teeth (yes, her bottom teeth are crooked, who knew dogs could have crooked teeth).

I knew I couldn’t go home without that dog; I refused to leave her. It’s safe to say that I didn’t know what I was getting into when I brought that little monster home! Delilah was incredibly difficult to train, but I like to think it’s because she’s independent and doesn’t need someone constantly telling her what to do. But we made it through all the major milestones — potty training, obedience training; she even learned how to eat with a spoon.

I’ve had Delilah for almost 10 years. She’s made me angry, she’s made me upset, but most of all, she’s made me love her like a child. Unfortunately in September 2016, my sweet Lilah was diagnosed with Melanoma, and the diagnosis was grim, because it was inoperable and terminal. I was told to take my dog home to die because there was simply nothing anyone could do. I felt like I had been hit in the stomach and had every ounce of air knocked out of my body. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so … empty, which is crazy because she’s a dog, or like a lot of my “friends” told me “just a dog.”

But, Delilah was never just a dog; she’s always been more. She’s been a nonjudgmental (I think) shoulder to cry on, someone who was always happy to see me come home at the end of a long day. Delilah kept the enthusiasm I saw in her on that first day over the past nine years, the enthusiasm that I wish I had. I didn’t want this to sound like a eulogy, but here’s to you, Delilah, thank you for everything over the past nine years.