Pete

Whitley and Pete

Some say it was a lucky chance that we met Pete that late spring day in 2006. Some say it was chance that we found him at the Humane Society the day before he was scheduled to be put-to-sleep. I think it was fate. As we walked through the isles of lonely canines, a woman approached us. We were asked with a hopeful tone if we had seen "Petrie". Having not noticed him, she led us to him and informed us that he was due to be euthanized. Huddled on the cold ground in the front of his kennel was a sad black and tan bundle of fur. It was a great mystery to the shelter staff as to why he had not yet been adopted. My intuition tells me it had to do something with his breed. After a meet-and-greet in shelter's yard, we unanimously decided he'd be coming home with us. I was only 11 when we adopted him in 2006 and he was always very polite and gentle around every kid he met. However, he had a fear of men and a fear of loud yelling or arguing. As time progressed he became my best friend. As soon as my true colors began to shine through, I experienced a severe lack of friends because my opinions and beliefs were very different from the other kids. When I would come home from a long day of school, he was always there for me to lay next to and vent. In the summer of 2009 my best friend was across the country. I was barely able to communicate with her, and I began to spiral into a depression. It seemed that my best friend had just come back from her across-the-country trip when transferred to another school. I often contemplated suicide, but felt that would be too pathetic of a way to leave the earth. Instead I spent my days sleeping in past noon and barely leaving the house, not finding enjoyment in anything. Pete always seemed to know when to be there. He'd come into the room and he would sit on the floor and cuddle in my lap before I invited him onto the bed where I would lay next to him and vent everything I was feeling. I would take him on walks in the desert and just sit with him because he was the only 'person' I even wanted to see. His optimistic and forgiving personality always seemed to be able to make me smile even when I was feeling my worst. He loved kids, adults, puppies, and dogs. He was what every human should aspire to be. On November 14th 2009, I came home from a long day at school to find out that some people didn't feel the way I did. That the world was more cruel than I thought I could ever believe. Pete had been murdered. He had been shot and killed. I didn't believe what I was being told. I simply couldn't. But somehow, it finally hit me. I spent that day so broken I could hardly speak. What pained me the most was that he was alone. All of the times he had been there for me, and I wasn't there for him when he needed it the most. I didn't want to go on. After a few weeks of dazed depression, it seems like I had an epiphany. Pete wouldn't want me to be that way. He would want me to go on, just as he had always been so happy, so optimistic. The memories of his joyful, welcoming personality are what helped me through both his death, and the absence of friends in my life that I have now accepted. He has inspired me to be more like him; optimistic and welcoming. Please, consider rescuing a dog from your local animal shelter. It will change you. Perhaps even push you in the right direction.