My husband and I had a dog named Chicken. She died a couple of days ago, 3 months shy of what would have been her 12th birthday, and 2 weeks almost to the second after I had a miscarriage. Chicken was a gift from my husband on our 2nd Christmas together back in 2008. She was with me throughout my tumultuous 20s up to my early 30s, and except for the two years we were oceans apart, was my constant companion while I navigated early adulthood, figured out my life, and searched for my voice in a foreign country. We did a lot of growing up together. She was like me in a lot of ways and one day when my heart can handle the grief of losing her a little better, I will tell the world all about her.

There was once a dog named Chicken, and the world is better because she left her paw prints all over.