text: My family often calls me a good boy. I like it when they say that, because it means I have their approval. And really, I take pride in knowing that they are proud of me. It means I have been a successful dog for the day. I’ve been with them for about five years now, and as the years go by, our bond only grows stronger. Every day, I wake up excited at the prospect of a fresh new day, another day to spend with my family, another day for me to shower them with as much love as possible, another day to make them feel proud and lucky to have me. I live in a heaven of treats and pats, hugs and cuddles, and my favourite, Frisbee games. Suffice to say that in return for all the love and care they have showered me with, I would love to be able to do something to make them proud. Something really big. Not just learning a new trick or something like that, but I mean really large scale, something ambitious. Huge. One of my favourite moments is cuddling up in Mommy’s lap while she’s watching TV, with no one else in the house but just the two of us. Although I do love the other members of my family as much as other dogs do, Mommy and I share a special bond. She was the one who proposed the idea of bringing me back from the shelter, or at least that’s what I heard Daddy imply when he begged her not to take in any more dogs because four children and a dog are more than he can handle. She was a little sad, but it’s okay because I’m the only dog she will ever need. Everyone calls me Cotton, except Mommy; she calls me Pompom, more out of habit than anything. She started doing that when they hadn’t gotten a name for me yet, and the youngest human finally decided I should be called Cotton, but I prefer Pompom because no one but Mommy calls me that. Lately, the idea of doing something big to make my family (especially Mommy) proud of me has become more and more persistent in my mind. Although I rack my brains daily, I simply can’t find a single thing. To be sure, learning new tricks would make them proud, bringing them gifts from my treasure store would make them happy, but these are the simple things. And I’m not saying that the simple things in life should be neglected, but day by day, the desire to do something spectacular grew bigger and more persistent. I became restless, pacing back and forth. Mommy got worried and thought I was getting sick - she almost brought me to the vet - but the small humans convinced her that I was just anxious about something. That was a narrow escape there. For months and months, in fact close to a year, I worried about this. There were times when I nearly convinced myself that I would never be able to truly make my family proud of me, and made Mommy extremely worried when I walked up to her and put my head in her lap, whimpering. To my horror, a tear fell out of my eye and dropped onto her lap. I certainly didn’t mean for that to happen! Then it happened. I was cosily curled up in Mommy’s lap as usual, a documentary playing on the TV, her fingers running through my fur and occasionally stroking my head, when the scene changed to a shot of the most beautiful collie I have ever seen. She was running, chasing several sheep, making them keep up with a whole group of sheep in front. “Meet Collie, a sheep herder in training,” said the narrator’s voice. He said some other things I don’t remember now, but then he started listing some other breeds that used to be herd dogs too. And then he said it. “Pomeranians, too, were once upon a time used as sled dogs, but over time, they started to become a status symbol. Known for their diminutive size, no one would have guessed that their ancestors used to pull sleds or even occasionally round up sheep.” And it was at that moment, I knew, right then and there, what I was going to be. I was going to be a herd dog. I would follow the path of my ancestors and restore their former glory. And more importantly, I would finally be actively useful in helping my family. I could help them to do things like the big, strong dog I would finally be. I would finally be a dog that they could be really proud of. Overcome with excitement, I jumped up and gave Mommy’s face a huge lick. She screamed a little. “Pompom, you scared me!” she chided. But for once, I didn’t care. She would be happy with my surprise. The thing is, where on earth would I get sheep to practice with? I certainly dared not beg the family for any. I wanted this to be a surprise. I wanted to take the wind out of their sails. But this was harder than I thought. In a city area, where do I find sheep? Rather despondently, I put my front paws up on the window seat, hoping to get a better view out of the window. Maybe some sheep would pass by, I thought. It was a ridiculous thought, I knew, but I had to try anyway. With a glimmer of faint hope, I watched and waited. And with each car that drove by outside, with each human that passed by on the pavement, that flickering flame of hope inside me became even dimmer. But still, I waited. And then another idea struck me. If unruly sheep could be herded...then why not... I quietly snuck out of the small flap at the bottom of the door that the previous owner of this house had left for his cat. It was a struggle, since it was a little small, but I managed to push through in the end. Finally, I ran out to the road outside. My first herding session! Wouldn’t everyone be proud of me! I waited at the traffic light crossing, and soon enough, a car came into view. Wasting no time, I jumped behind it and ran, barking madly. Wait. Why wasn’t it listening to my instructions? This isn’t what happened on TV. Not at all. After a while, it became tiring to keep up, so I turned around and ran in the opposite direction to go home. Blaring horns, a blinding flash of light, excruciating pain, then darkness. I awoke, surrounded by total darkness, with absolutely no clue of where I was. A shining figure approached me. Strangely, I didn’t feel afraid. I always was shy around strangers, but somehow this human - if he was human - made me feel at peace. Calm. “Pompom,” he said, firmly but kindly. I trembled. Who was he? No one but Mommy called me by that name. I bristled slightly. He chuckled slightly at my response. “Okay then, Cotton, if you will. Is there anything, one last wish, that you would like to fulfil before I introduce you to your new home?” “Yes, in fac-“ I stopped, taken aback. How...? The shining figure chuckled again. “Yep. You can now talk. So, what would you like to do?” Somehow, I was able to speak without getting tangled in my words. I’d never spoken in the human tongue before. But right now, there was only one priority in my mind, and it wasn’t being able to talk. Well, part of it was. But not really. I floated up to the shining man’s ear and whispered something. -- My husband’s shoulder had become a soaking wet mess as I buried my face in it, letting huge sobs escape me. “I’m sorry, ma’am...your dog unfortunately cannot be saved. His survival chances are less than 1%,” the surgeon informed us. “Are...are you sure?” my husband asked, his voice choking a little. The only response from the surgeon was a sad shake of the head. My family held a funeral for Cotton. To them, he was Cotton, but to me, he was my precious little Pompom, my adorable, playful little Pompom. After we’d said our final farewells, I lingered a little. “Pompom...I will always be honoured to have had you,” I whispered, a tear sliding down my cheek and gently falling onto his grave. As I finally turned away from Pompom’s final resting place, I could’ve sworn I heard the wind whisper back at me.