I am a dog person. Yes, I have had other pets: cats, rabbits, rats, chickens, ducks, and probably a few frogs or toads thrown in for good measure at some point during my childhood. I loved them all very much, for reasons as individual as each pet. I am an equal opportunity animal lover, and would probably have a house full of various strays if I didn't live in a one bedroom apartment with a strict pet policy. The truth is, though, I love dogs the most. I just can't help it.

It probably started with the Labrador Retriever my parents adopted before I was born. Ellie had glossy black fur, big ears and webbed feet. Like most Labs, she used those webbed feet at every available opportunity, to swim like a mad woman in any body of water she could find.

I remember taking Ellie on a camping trip when I was very young. We were camping next to a small stream with a cliff just high enough to make a good splash when you jumped into the water below. All of the adults and many of the other kids were taking turns jumping again and again from the top, which was scarily high for me. Someone coaxed Ellie to the top with a chunk of hot dog, and then tossed the chunk from the ledge. Ellie followed. I shrieked, sure that my beloved dog would plummet to her death. She snatched the meaty treat out of the air before hitting the surface of the water and going under. I held my breath for ten seconds before she resurfaced. The whole crowd, who had stopped to watch at this point, cheered as Ellie swam for the shore, shook the water from her fur, and raced again to the top of the cliff to reenact her daring feat. Most likely the hot dog was enough motivation for her, but I was completely convinced that she was the smartest and most fearless dog I had ever seen in my life. I was so proud that it was MY dog who entertained the gathered campers for the rest of the afternoon with her base jumping acts of bravery.

My parents, Ellie, and I slept in a three person tent that night, where I fell asleep basking in amazement of my dog. We all awoke about three hours later, to the unmistakable sound of a retching dog, as Ellie proceeded to vomit what had probably added up to six or eight hot dogs total from her day's activities, across the floor of the already crowded tent. Later, sleeping outside our uninhabitable tent that night, post-vomit, I still felt an overwhelming love and pride for my dog.

I've had a number of dogs since Ellie: a wiry hound, a noisy beagle,

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