When I read the letter I cried with excitement. At least, I think it was excitement. Mum kept asking if I was nervous but I was sure I could keep up with the assignments. I was in. The University had accepted my application. Yet I was still crying.

When I was younger there was a trend in my neighbourhood for tough looking dogs. You know the type. Short, stocky bodies with a wide mouth and a gym membership. I lived in a small ‘one-horse’ town and people there had that small-town mentality, that tough was better than smart. My parents raised me different. But trends are trends and I still wanted a dog. Not to look tough, mind you. Dogs are cute, dopey idiots that always make you smile. You couldn’t ask for a better best friend.

When I was ten, my parents got Phoebe. She was a little, clumsy ball of white fur with a pink nose and a lot of love. She’d been the runt of the litter and seemed to whimper constantly, so we couldn’t forget. We were inseparable. She slept downstairs but I would sometimes wait until my parents went to bed and let her into my room. This inevitably ended with me waking up struggling to breath as she slept on my face. I spent high school handing in half eaten homework and wearing a school jumper with on sleeve longer than the other. Phoebe liked ‘tug of war’, just not with her toys.

When I was fourteen some kids from one town over caught me walking her alone in the park. One pushed me to the floor and Phoebe ‘tug-of-war’ed half his jeans off. Of course, they all ran screaming. We might not have got her to look tough but she could snarl like Cujo when I was threatened.

By the time I was eighteen, Phoebe was seventy pounds of soft, soppy cuddles with superhero muscles and bad breath. When I opened that acceptance letter she wagged her tail like a lunatic and span in circles, hopping and barking in excitement at my reaction. Her arthritis was worse lately and it must have hurt. I gave her a full steak that night, poor thing.

I didn’t manage to get home too often during the following years at University. Between daytime lectures and working evenings, I studied in what free time I had. People I knew back home were working factory jobs and already pregnant with their second children. I knew this opportunity was a gift and I owed my parents my best.

After four years I graduated. I was ecstatic. I’d done it. The long hours studying and the time away from home and from Phoebe had allowed me to achieve my degree. As I walked on stage in cap and gown, I shook the dean’s hand and cried. She smiled as she saw the dog collar on my wrist and the love heart tag that read “Bonnie”.