As I walked into my front door the first day of Thanksgiving break, the familiarity of my childhood home filled my senses –– the unique scent every house has that I could never smell myself, the creeks of the old staircase that I have memorized –– but amongst these familiarities, one heavy absence weighed on my heart. The memory of my dog of fifteen years, who had passed away the month before while I was away at school, consumed my mind as I noticed the lack of her furry presence.

My family adopted my dog from the pound when I was three years old. She was just a puppy, as cute as can be with a tail much too large for her petite body. This feature, coupled with her high energy levels, earned her a fitting name- Wiggles.

The lakeside location of my childhood home allowed for both Wiggles and me to grow up alongside fish, ducks, frogs, and many other kinds of wildlife.

One of my brother and my favorite activities was to go fishing on our dock, filling a bucket with as many fish as possible before releasing them back to the water. Wiggles enjoyed this activity just as much if not more than we did, biting at the fish in the bucket like one would bob for apples at a state fair. She also always managed to snag some of the cheese and bread pieces my brother and I used as bait, making fishing an exciting and treat filled activity for all three of us.

Although we did not know her breed, my family and I knew Wiggles was some hound mutt, meaning she had a strong nose and instinct to hunt. The food chain, a biological concept that can be difficult for animal-loving elementary schoolers to accept, was exemplified in one specific event when I was around six.

I was playing with Wiggles outside when she spotted a bunny in our yard, and captured it in her mouth before either me or the bunny could stop her. I immediately pulled her collar and pried her jaw open, releasing the poor baby rabbit on the ground.

My dad must have been confused when his daughter barged into the house asking him to help her save a dying rodent while gripping and cursing the family dog between tears. Not only did this situation teach me the truths about predators and prey, but showed me that everyone in our lives has qualities we dislike. With this lesson learned, I continued to love my bunny hunting dog, despite her predator instincts.

Back in elementary school, a fascination with horror films and stories of gore left my developing mind in a constant state of paranoia, which elevated every time I needed to venture into my house alone. I especially dreaded showering, a vulnerable task that any Alfred Hitchcock fan knows is the perfect opportunity for a psychopath with a butcher knife to make his move.

To calm my fears, every night for years I would have Wiggles sit on the bathroom floor while I showered, protecting me from any masked murderers who might break in during the fifteen-minute routine. After a while, I didn’t even need to call her name- every night around 7:30 she would follow me to the bathroom, make herself comfortable on the rug, and alleviate my illogical childhood fears.

Likewise, during nights when my fears kept me awake (seriously, what eight years old develops an obsession with the SAW franchise?) I would drag my pillow and blanket to the floor next to Wiggles, who even in her sleep could protect from any and all threats.

Many of these nights revealed my canine hero’s kryptonite, however, which manifested in roaring thunder and cracks of lightning outside. Whenever a storm began, Wiggles would begin shaking, whimpering, and jumping on anyone around her to alarm them of the madness. During these nights, our roles reversed- I would hold my hero and stroke her back until we both fell asleep, learning that even the strongest figures in my life had fears and weaknesses of their own.

As the years passed, my hair grew longer while hers grew grayer, but my packed schedule and her decreasing energy only brought us closer. She remained my confidant, the first I would tell about the boys I liked at school or the upcoming tests I worried about. When I began running cross country, she became my biggest cheerleader, hanging out with my teammates during meets and motivating me to make it to the finish line. After races, we would both fall asleep in the back of my dad’s car with her head on my leg, the same way we had been traveling for the last decade.

During her last year, Wigs would spend most of the day sleeping or simply relaxing at my feet. To get her some exercise, I often walked her to a library near my house, where she could catch her breath outside while I searched for some summer reading material. These warm months were my last with my girl- we spent multiple nights sitting at the end of the dock, me kicking my feet in the water and her calmly peering at the fish she once went berserk over.

On my way to drop off my bags in my room, I passed through my dad’s office and noticed a worn out collar with “Wiggles” engraved on the corresponding tag sitting on his desk. I picked it up and gave it a quick shake, producing the jingling sound associated with my best friend. Although I miss her, I cherish the opportunity I had to grow up with Wiggles at my side and continue to use the lessons I learned from her canine companionship.