When my dad passed away, I somehow inherited his three year old puppy. I had never been a dog lover up to this point, but I felt somehow responsible for the little guy. I knew that I could not let him go to the shelter or have him go live with complete strangers. So, I packed up his dog bed, his food and all of his toys and brought him to my quiet little house.

Before too long, it seemed as though his dog beds and toys were taking up more room in the house than my own things. I was feeling bitter and sorry for myself, as I had always prided myself on having no one to take care of besides myself.

Eventually, Rascal grew on me and I grew to love him very much. In a way, he made me feel closer to dad. It was nice to know that I would have him to greet me at the door when I came home from work. In the end, he filled up an empty spot in my heart that I never even knew was there.