Since I was very young, I owned a black lab retriever named Buster. He was born under my front porch in Lacey, Washington, in 2000. In the same year, my parents tried giving up our little pup to a neighbor who wanted a dog in their home. Even though I said I didn't want Buster, it turned out that I did. Once the neighbor left with him, I cried to have him back and the rest of the years that we had him, we never tried to rid us from him again. Throughout the years he lived, Buster and I had become best friends. It occurred to me then that dogs are not only a man's best friend, but a girl's best friend, too. In the year of 2005, tragedy struck. July 16th, 2005, Buster had died of a heart attack at the age of five. I felt ashamed to not be there with him when he died, for I was at a friend's birthday party. When my parents came, my mother gave me the clue that something had gone wrong at our house. She was crying and didn't stop for a long while and my dad acted suspicious. Once my mother was done crying, or, at least, had a pause, I asked her what had gone wrong. Through the hiccups and runny nose, she told me that Buster died. In the back of the jeep, he was wrapped in blue tarp behind me.

We got my brother, Michael, and drove on a road that lead to a high hill covered in forest. There, we dug a hole in the ground and placed our loved dog peacefully. My dad handing me a wooden cross, I wrote in sharpie "Here lies the best friend anyone could have: Buster." Whether he was a dog or human, it wouldn't matter what people thought. Buster was still my best friend and first true friend. He always will be.

As we drove on the road and off the hill, I imagined Buster running wild and free through the fields that surround his grave.
"Good luck with your new life, Buster." I thought as we drove past.