Reflection
Bilbo
A random writing prompt asked me to describe my first pet.
I didn’t expect it to bring up this much.
When I found a stray dog and brought him home to my parents, I was seven. That same night, we had been watching the animated movie The Hobbit on television. I begged my parents to let me keep him. They said yes, and we named him Bilbo after Bilbo Baggins.
Bilbo was like a hobbit, with a black coat and short, stumpy legs that were white. He also had the temperament of a hobbit: peaceful and loving, but also a defender. When a friend and I got into a scuffle in my backyard, Bilbo came to my rescue, jumping up on my friend. The fight was instantly over, and my friend and I had something new to talk about: my protector dog.
Bilbo never complained. He lived outside. He didn’t have a doghouse, but he did have our love. He wasn’t walked enough, but he ran around whenever we played outside. Bilbo was a good dog.
I didn’t know how to be a good dog owner, but I tried in my own way. He was an outside dog, though my mother tells me she would sneak him in whenever she could. Bilbo lived in Tucson, Arizona, during endless summers we thought would last forever.
When I was on my mission, I learned that Bilbo had died. My mom and siblings buried him in our backyard. I never got the chance to say goodbye to Bilbo, but I’m grateful that I got to know him. He opened my heart.
Now my kids have two dogs and two cats. They all live inside. The dogs get walked every day, at least twice, but often more than that. One dog we rescued. One cat we kept when the owner, who had asked us to watch him for a week, wouldn’t take him back.
Tubby is a little slow and struggles to find the litter box sometimes, which is a source of constant frustration. But one thing he is, is loved—as are the rest of our crew.
Thank you, Bilbo. I will never forget you.