10 years prior, you were an eager child, skipping energetically as your mother held onto your small hands and made your way to the neighborhood pet store. The store's bell chimed as you opened the glass door, welcoming your arrival. The shopkeeper greeted the both of you with a smile before telling you to look around.

You dashed towards where the puppies were kept, determined to choose one to take home. You skimmed through every display window, as you thought long and hard for the 'perfect' one, until a snow-white Maltese caught your eye. Its round black eyes peered through the glass at you, before seemingly smiling at you as it exposed its pink tongue.

It's perfect! You thought, running up to your mother and tugging at her sleeve impatiently. You pointed at the Maltese, persistently begging her to buy it. She did, and you went home with the dog and its essentials.

All was well in the first year; you took care of it well – feeding, bathing, brushing, picking up poop even. You even brought the fluffy fur-ball to school for show-and-tell. Your friends loved how its soft fur embraced their fingertips, and how well-mannered the dog was.

You got a little lazy in the second year, so your mother had to take over in trimming the dog's fur and nails. You still spent a lot of time in its company though. It would cuddle in your lap and sleep next to you in bed, and would give you morning licks to wake you up.

You got a game console for your birthday in the third year, and you spent half of your time on it, the other half with the dog. So you bought a few more toys for it to entertain itself with. A few times, it held a rubber ball in its mouth and glanced up at you, but you just threw the ball for it to go after.

The fourth year was when you had an important exam, so you were determined to study hard. The dog was always lonely as it curled at your feet, longing for you to notice its presence. In the end, you scored perfect As and all was good. You spent the rest of the year with the dog to make up for lost time.

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Your mother bought you a computer, but you used all your time surfing the web. By now your only chore was to feed and clean after the dog. The others had long been left to your mother. The dog disappeared one day, only to return the next day covered in grass, dirt and mud. Furious, you beat it while it wailed in pain.

The dog was limping on its hind leg on the seventh year, but you simply brushed it aside, assuming that there was nothing wrong with it despite your mother's concern.

In the eighth year, the dog spent most of its time sleeping, occasionally coughing and wheezing in its sleep. You decided to take it to the vet for a check-up and ended up having to put it on medication.

In the ninth year, you realized that the dog was getting fat and rarely moved around, spending all of its time on its cushion. You tried to make it come to you but it would just wag its fluffy tail. It came up to you one day with the same rubber ball in its mouth, doing the same thing as it did for the past six years – glancing at you, only this time with aged eyes. You, however, took it and threw it like you did, leaving the dog to stagger slowly towards the ball.

You couldn't find the dog after your return from school one day. No matter how many times you called its name, it didn't come to you. Not even a bark. You went to your room, only to find the very dog laid lifelessly beside your pillow, its beautiful eyes closed, and the rubber ball in its mouth. All it wanted was to be with you. Even at the brink of death, it wanted to remain close to you, but it left before it could see you for the very last time.