Sometimes, our best friends are the ones we least expect—the ones we feel aren't good enough to be, the ones we presume to be dangerous.  

Years ago, I was still a child who loved animals but was scared of them. Sometimes, I would run to my dad's room...  

"Daddy, I want a dog."  

![dog-2762200_1280.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/chuksmeezy/EopsyQLvZh3hc7FUTaCjcKovQAJda56CGd7jdZND1hyBQDqWqL91Q8jJkgt8ngrWsVW.jpg)  
[Source](https://pixabay.com/photos/dog-nature-alsatian-animal-cute-2762200/)  

He would laugh out loud. "Are you sure you want one?" he would usually ask me.  

"Yes," I'd say while nodding my head.  

"I don't think you're ready. You're too scared of animals."  

I would playfully hit my brittle hands on his thighs while faking a cry. "Daaaddy, buy one."  

Well, I returned from school one day, and guess what? I saw a basket with a cute little puppy in it. I was surprised and excited. My heart celebrated within, and my emotions exuded from my perfect smile.  

I ran to my dad, who was eating lunch at the dining table. "Daddy, is the dog for me?"  

"Of course. Who do you think it's for?" My dad had no time to joke around—always straight to the point, unlike my mum. I guess this was the reason I was really shocked he bought a dog to surprise me.  

Well, days passed by, and I found the greatest friend in him. My siblings and I were so fond of him that we gave him the name "Bruno." The name was taken from one of our favorite characters in a cartoon series.  

I would eat slowly sometimes so that my dad, mum, and siblings could finish their meals and leave before I did.  

"Make sure you clean up the table and wash the dishes," my dad would say, pointing at me while leaving the table. He usually got angry that I suddenly formed the habit of eating slowly. Perhaps that's why I was always asked to do the dishes after every meal.  

"Bruno, Bruno," I would then call my puppy to the dining room after everyone had left, placing his feeding plate close to his sniffing nose. "Here you go." I'd pour in my tea or whatever I ate into it while guarding every possible entrance my parents could come through.  

I didn't mind cleaning or washing as long as Bruno was happy. I watched him grow into an adult. I watched as his low-pitched bark transitioned to that of a grown male. I found peace and comfort in him.  

"Hmm... you and this Bruno," my dad would jokingly say each time he saw me having a close-up moment with him.  

"I told you I love animals," I'd reply.  

He'd just laugh and walk past me while I kept enjoying my loved-up moment with Bruno.  

My siblings were frightened of him when he grew so big. He was an Alsatian breed, though he seemed much larger. Perhaps it was the meals I secretly shared with him—who knows?  

One certain morning, I walked up to my dad. "Daddy, good morning," I greeted him.  

"How was your night?" he asked me.  

"It was fine." I wore a priceless smile on my cute, innocent face.  

"I'd love to show you something." He held me by the hand and led me downstairs towards Bruno's cage.  

Bruno lay asleep on the warm marble floor. I playfully poked him on the belly while my dad watched, smiling at both of us. But there was something quite unusual about Bruno—he didn't wake up. I poked him again, but still, no response.  

I turned to my dad, who had been watching me the whole time. Our eyes locked.  

"He's dead, Emeka."  

My heart skipped. I could physically feel the pain transmit right through my chest. I didn't know what to do or say. My mouth widened, but no words came forth.  

"I'm sorry. I'll buy you another one," he said, tapping my shoulder before leaving.  

I cried out as though I had lost not just a dog, not even a friend... but a brother! How could the world be so cruel? How could the one thing that made me feel so special bring forth sadness?  

For days and months, I felt like I had no one, even though I had parents and siblings. My laughter was silenced, my smiles were lost, and all I was left with were the perfect memories we once had. It was the only thing I found solace in—the one thing I held onto in my darkest moments.  

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