This Thanksgiving season marks the one-year passing of one of my oldest friends in the world, my dog Duchess. We got her as a puppy when I was 12 years old. She came with me when I moved out of the house for college, and stayed with me throughout 3 state-to-state moves. When she passed, I had her for over half of my life. Duchess started out as a family pet, but she became my dog. I couldn’t walk from one room to the next without her following at my heels. When her arthritis kept her from climbing stairs, she would follow me to the bottom step, lay down, and wait patiently for my descent. She went on 4-mile runs with me until she was 12 years old. When she began losing her hearing, I only needed to stretch my hand out to her and she knew that meant, “come.” I’ll never forget as she grew older, dreading the day I knew would inevitably come. If I thought about it too much, I would even begin to cry. She would just stare at me, then come over and lick my hand. I could sense that it